Shivers Box Set: Darkening Around Me\Legacy of Darkness\The Devil's Eye\Black Rose (20 page)

Our charming new acquaintance had, in my opinion, perceived something that changed his manner from playful friendliness to fear. What concerned me most was that the dog had not evinced any signs of distress until Uther arrived.

* * *

“The west wing may be insufferably gloomy,” Tynan stated, looking up at the grim, layered turrets against the rough grain of an evening sky, “but at least there are no secret passages.”

I paused. The pale mauve tapestry of twilight was interwoven with threads of cobalt blue. It was a beautiful scene, but Tynan’s words intruded on my enjoyment of it. I turned questioning eyes upon him.

“The secret passage that leads to the east wing bedchambers,” he explained. When I admitted that I had no idea what he was talking about, he led me into the great hall. He drew aside one of the tapestries, this one depicting a bloody battle in which a knight in Jago colours laid waste to all about him. Concealed in the intricate panelling was a narrow door.

“Thought to have been added during the reign of the Virgin Queen,” Tynan told me, in the manner of a tour guide, “when religious persecution made a place of concealment a desirable addition to a gentleman’s residence.”

“Is it locked?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder in unaccustomed nervousness.

Tynan nodded, but pointed to a heavily carved panel a few feet away. In its centre was an intricate rose and he reached out a hand, twisting the flower’s wooden core. The door clicked open. Tynan gestured for me to step into the darkness beyond. With a slight feeling of trepidation, I did so. Tynan picked up a branch of candles and followed me, closing the door after us. We were in a small, square, roughly panelled space, not much larger than a cupboard. I could stand, but Tynan had to hunch his shoulders slightly because the ceiling was so low. The air was stale and dusty and the flickering candlelight threw grotesque shadows onto the panels. A narrow winding staircase occupied the wall opposite the entrance. Tynan went up ahead of me, turning slightly and holding the candlestick high so that I could see my way. Each stair creaked stealthily under our weight. At the top of the staircase we found ourselves in a narrow passage, just wide enough to walk along without brushing the walls on either side. Tynan had to stoop even more under the low-hanging beams. The floor was wildly uneven and Tynan cautioned me to watch my step. There were three doors leading off this corridor. Tynan pointed to the middle one.

“Your room,” he informed me with a cheerfulness that chilled me.

The door had a similar hidden mechanism to the one downstairs, and we walked through it in silence. The familiar surroundings of my bedchamber seemed false from this new angle. There was my bed, with its pretty coverlet and bank of pillows. A welcoming fire blazed, and Miss Clatterthorpe had set out my dress for dinner on a hanger over the bed rail. It was comfortingly normal…and yet not. Nothing was normal any more. I took a step into the room. I was standing in the exact spot where I had found Tynan’s handkerchief on the night of the storm.

An overwhelming feeling of anger shook me. “So anyone, at any time, can enter my bedchamber whenever the mood takes him?” I whirled to face Tynan, who took a step back in mock alarm.

“No, because you can close this latch, see?” He showed me a neat wooden catch disguised as a carved bunch of grapes within the heavy oak panelling.

“Only if you know about it!” I exclaimed. “Which I did not!”

“But now you do,” he pointed out reasonably.

I studied the door for a long time. Even now I knew of its existence, it was very difficult to see it once closed.

“Does Uther know of this secret door?” I asked.

“Of course he does,” Tynan said. “You should know by now there is nothing at Tenebris that Uther is unaware of. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m wondering why, when he showed me around the castle, he omitted to mention its existence.”

“Perhaps he did not want to alarm you?” Tynan speculated. “People tend to either love or hate the Gothic nature of Tenebris and you do—if you will pardon me for saying so,
hweg
—appear considerably more delicate than you actually are! Maybe Uther succumbed to some chivalrous instinct and was trying to protect you from dreams of dead monks and headless horsemen stealing along the passage?”

I remained silent. No one had greater cause than I to know that chivalry did not feature large amongst Uther’s motives towards me. And, in any case, when I confided to him that someone had entered my room in the middle of the night, he still did not say anything about this secret door. Even if he did not wish to alarm me, surely he would have taken steps to ensure it could no longer be used to gain access to my room? I could think of no reason why Uther would wish to allow someone to enter my bedchamber at will. I preferred to believe he had simply forgotten about the door, but a tiny, niggling voice prevailed. It told me, quietly but insistently, that Uther Jago was not a man to forget anything, even the most trifling detail.

* * *

The day was warm and drowsy. In the distance, arcs of white sail were stark against a field of brilliant blue. Not even the tiniest cloud dared mar the perfect heavens. Velvet bees strummed from lupins to foxgloves, stopping off at delphiniums along the way. Dragonflies danced from shade to drowsy shade. Tynan and I batted a shuttlecock between us in a decidedly half-hearted manner. I was uncomfortably aware that the exertion had painted my cheeks with shiny pink and that my hair was escaping from its pins. Laughing, I begged Tynan for a break so that I could regain a little dignity.

Tynan began a teasing answer, but he paused in midsentence, clutching the sides of his head. His beautiful features contorted suddenly in pain. I rushed to his side, sliding an arm about his waist and, as we made our way slowly back to the castle, he leaned gratefully against my much smaller frame.

“The sunlight.” He raised a shaking hand to shield his brow. “It hurts my eyes.”

When we reached the great hall, I helped him lower himself into a chair. He was trembling violently and I called out for Pascoe. “Bring His Lordship some water, and please find Mr Uther and Desmond! At once!” The butler bowed and hurried to do my bidding. I knelt on the cold stone flags before Tynan’s chair and held his hands. He returned my grasp gratefully, and I was shocked to see the fear in the raw depths of his eyes. An angel of death danced in their golden light.

“What can I do for you?” I asked quietly, but he shook his head. I interpreted this to mean that he was unable to speak. I raised one of his icy hands and held it against my warm cheek. We stayed like that for only a minute or two before Uther strode into the room and took charge of the situation. Desmond was a heartbeat behind him.

Between them, they half supported, half carried Tynan. I rose to accompany them, but Uther gestured for me to remain where I was. They lumbered up the staircase. I watched from my kneeling position until they were out of sight. Sadly, I rose and, needing to be busy, began to remove a few dying blooms from one of the vases. Roses wither and belief dies. The bright colours blurred as unshed tears burned my eyes.

“Tynan is unwell and will not be joining us for dinner,” Uther explained as we met in the hall before the evening meal. He handed me a glass of wine.

“May I visit him?” I asked, sipping the dark liquid.

He looked long and hard at me. “That would not be wise,” he replied gravely. He drew me over to the casement window and I studied our reflection in the glossy surface of the darkened panes. We looked together at long shadows, which stretched the castle’s columns so that they caressed the night-time clouds. Night stole the light away from the ancient walls, leaving behind a sullen purple tint. In contrast, the moon threw her beams across the deathly calm of the ocean.

“The moon will be full again in a day or two,” Uther said. His nearness affected me as always, but, despite the reluctant lust which began inevitably to thrum through me, I sensed a deeper message in his words. Tynan had been unwell when I first came to Tenebris. And the moon had been full then, too.

* * *

Dreams penetrate the thickest walls, darken the lightest room and laugh at locksmiths. I awoke with the dawn and, my mind being too much disturbed to find sleep again, rose and watched the gradual advance of day. Morning prayers could not lighten the burden of my thoughts. I could not reconcile all that I had heard of Tynan’s madness with what my heart knew of him. True, he was often gauche to the point of incivility. He blurted out his thoughts as they came into his head, and he had that uniquely Jago need for physical contact that bordered on the inappropriate. Those faults did not add up to insanity! My thoughts were unbearable. I had to be sure. Purposefully, I marched along the corridors until I reached the west wing. I knew which turret housed the earl’s quarters from the tour Uther had given me on that first day. It seemed so long ago, but was, in fact, just one short month.

Tynan’s suite of rooms was reached by a spiral staircase, and I navigated this cautiously. I had no desire to meet Uther and have him scupper my mission. The door at the top of the staircase was of gigantic proportions, of carved oak as thick as my forearm and ornamented with heavy brass features. I half expected to find it locked, but, with a world-weary groan, it opened when I lifted the ring held in the mouth of a carved lion. Pausing only to draw a steadying breath, I tiptoed inside.

The heavy crimson curtains were drawn, throwing the scene into a parody of shadowy twilight. Tynan was slumped in a chair. His white shirt was crumpled and open to the waist, his black hair disordered. Stubble darkened his jaw and chin, and blue shadows lay vivid beneath his bloodshot eyes. What shocked me more than his wild appearance was the iron manacle clasped about his bare ankle. This was attached to a chain just long enough to allow him a circle of about six feet. A sob rose in my throat and it must have escaped my lips because he looked up then.

“Lucy!” His speech was slurred, but the familiar, dear smile lit his eyes. There was no madness in their golden depths. Against all the warnings I had been given, I rushed forward to embrace him. We clung together desperately for long minutes and, oddly, it was he who comforted me.

Kneeling before his chair, I sat back on my heels. “Tynan, this is barbaric!” I indicated the chains. “There can be no need for this, surely?”

His lips twisted into something between a smile and a grimace. “I have no memory of what I do, but Uther assures me I am capable of any atrocity when the demons are upon me. This is his way of ensuring my own safety and that of others.”

“But you must see other doctors! There must be something…”

He shook his head sadly, releasing the pins from my hair so that he could tangle his fingers in its soft waves. “Think on,
hweg!
Uther will not bring shame upon the Jago name by announcing my affliction to the world! Not unless he is forced to do so. If I were to follow too closely in my father’s footsteps, perhaps.”

The words should have terrified me as I knelt there between his knees, his hands on my head. But I had no fear of Tynan.

“I never really knew my father—I was too young. But the vague stories others tell are not of a madman.” His voice was tinged with regret. I rubbed my cheek against his hand. “I suppose I know my mother a little better through her letters.” I looked up in surprise. “She left a pile of letters she wrote to me with my nurse. It seems strange, does it not? As if she had a premonition that we would not know each other.” He made a harsh sound of melancholy mirth. “Although it is probably just as well. She would hardly be proud to see me now.”

“Don’t say that!” My voice was fierce. “Don’t ever even think it.” His smile in response was sad. “Is there no clue in your mother’s letters as to what caused such a catastrophic event between your parents?”

He shook his head. “On the contrary. From what she wrote, they seemed happy enough. You are welcome to read the letters.” He gestured toward a large desk in a darkened corner of the room. I wanted to throw open the curtain so that I could see more clearly, but, when I made a movement to do so, Tynan protested. “The light hurts my eyes,” he reminded me.

Eventually, I found what I was looking for and gathered up the little packet of letters tied with a bright red ribbon. I was touched that Tynan trusted me to read them. Returning to where he sat, I dropped a kiss on Tynan’s head. He placed his hands about my waist, holding me in that position so that he could rest his forehead against my torso.

“Don’t come again,
hweg
,” he said gruffly. “I will be about again in a few days, and I don’t want you to see me like this. I have very little dignity left, but allow me this. Nor do I want you to face Uther’s wrath should he discover you have been to see me.”

It was the drama of the seascape that usually drew me. This time, I followed the path of a winding green-and-white brook, which led me inland. I had not come this way since the day that careless shot had been fired so close to me. Lost in thought, I wandered on without noticing the distance. I came upon a dewy glade, whose shrubs and flowers, sweeping down to the very edge of the water, made it an idyllic setting. The tranquillity soothed my troubled mind. For some time I sat against a tree trunk, lost in silent reverie, while the flowers that adorned the banks around me seemed to smile in new life. At last, I opened the packet of old letters and began to read the faint echoes of a love long silenced.

Eleanor had begun writing to Tynan before he was born. Short, sweet love notes to her child that, at first, made me smile.

I found myself liking Tynan’s mother and wishing I could have known her.

I felt a pang again for the dear, sweet child who had grown up without the love of his parents, and in the shadow of their tragedy. The letters continued. Eleanor gloated over her son as she watched him grow.

Tynan’s ill health clearly developed later since it was not evident in the months after his birth. I flicked through the letters, seeking those written closest to her death.

Some women, I knew, sank into a trough of depression after childbirth. But Eleanor’s spirits had been so high after Tynan’s birth. It appeared to be something within Tenebris itself that disturbed her.

It was frustrating that the letters ended so abruptly and did not convey any of the detail of what had led to Eleanor’s death. But then, I supposed, because Ruan was mad, there would be no point in trying to ascribe a reason to his actions. I glanced up at a movement and was spellbound to see a young deer taking dainty sips from the brook. The sight struck a chord, and I realised that this halcyon scene must be that place of brutal Jago legend. I was in Lucia’s Glade.

* * *

“Do you care to drive with me to Tintagel tomorrow,
hweg?
” Tynan looked tired, but calm when I at last returned to the castle. He had emerged from his confinement that morning. “We can ask Huddy for a picnic and spend the best part of the day there.”

“You mean you intend to flirt outrageously with Huddy in order to wheedle all sorts of delicacies out of her?” Demelza enquired, sweeping into the room. She held a hand against his brow and I sensed his irritation. “Are you quite sure you are up to the exertion of driving?”

“Hardly an onerous task,” Tynan pointed out impatiently. “I’ll hold the reins and the horses will do the rest.”

Uther stalked into the room, his eyes, as always, seeking mine and flashing a silent code meant only for me. “What is this?” he asked, picking up on the tension between Tynan and Demelza.

“Tynan is going to take me to see the ruins of King Arthur’s castle tomorrow,” I explained coolly, and Tynan threw me a grateful glance.

“Take care to wear a hat with a broad brim. The sun’s rays are fierce at this time of year and you will be out for the best part of the day” was all the response Uther gave. The matter appeared to be settled.

Later, Tynan went off to the library in search of a particular book and Demelza fluttered away for her daily meeting with Mrs Lethbridge. I was about to follow when Uther caught me by the upper arm and jerked me back into the room. “Are you sure you want to go with him?” His eyes scanned my face with a hunger that left me breathless.

“Of course.” I made a valiant effort to stop myself touching him. “I hear Tintagel is a beautiful spot.”

“Don’t pretend to be obtuse, Lucy,” he said. “Do you trust Tynan to keep you safe?”

“He has never given me any reason not to do so,” I said. “Besides, you tell me his moods are in tune with the moon, which is currently waning. Surely that makes this his calmest time?”

“I would have thought so ordinarily. The incident at the ball, however, has caused me some concerns. It was outside of his usual pattern.”

“But that was hardly an example of a fit of madness. Poor Tynan was overwrought after the exertion of dancing, certainly, but he did not demonstrate any signs of instability.”

He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “Maybe. But he is driven by a lust for blood that worsens at certain times in the lunar cycle. It is a huge responsibility for me to keep his madness secret and yet protect others, including you, from his violent outbursts.” I opened my mouth to speak. I wanted to say that Uther’s conduct at the ball had given me the distinct impression that he was happy for others to witness evidence of Tynan’s condition, and that I had never witnessed anything approaching violence from Tynan. But some deep-seated instinct made me hold my peace.

His eyes travelled over my body. “You are so delicate. A man could snap you in two with one hand. Yet there is so much quiet strength in that tiny frame. Dear God, Lucy, this impasse between us is torturing me!”

His hands reached out for me, but, with a superhuman effort, I stepped back. “No, Uther.” I don’t know who I shocked more with the word, a word I did not think myself capable of saying to him. “You have made your conditions very clear, and I cannot agree to them.”

I turned and whirled out of the room before he could overcome my resolve.

* * *

It was a magical morning, offering up an intoxicating promise of further glory to come. Golden sunlight shimmered in the morning air and new birds streaked across a cloud-free sky. The faintest of breezes sang a gentle tune. Glancing rainbows of colour turned the sea to shot silk. Butterflies froze in trembling flight over carpets of florid green and sullen, heavy purple. Our spirits soared as Tenebris disappeared from view. I was content to sit back as Tynan expertly tooled the reins of the open carriage, drinking in the wild majesty of the scene.

The journey along the coastal road from the Athal peninsula to Tintagel was a breathtaking experience. The peace and tranquillity contrasted starkly with the staggering beauty of the rugged coastline. Tynan pointed out landmarks. The tiny, salty hamlets of Treknow, Tregatta and Trewarmett were, he said, best seen on a stormy day. Stunning Trebarwith Sands, the Norman church of St Materiana, standing proud atop Glebe Cliff and the heights of Dennis Point, rang to the cries of peregrines, guillemots and kittiwakes.

This was the enchantment of England, a part of my heritage that I had lost in the swelter of Madras. Tintagel’s rocks rose sheer from the sea, crowned with green carpets. The ancient site looked superciliously down upon the ceaseless surge of the Atlantic, its waves sweeping in and breaking on million-year-old granite walls. A corner of my soul, a part of me I did not know existed, thrilled to see it. Some primeval memory, bequeathed by my Cornish ancestors, stirred.

We traversed steep steps to arrive at the gateway to the ruined castle. The potent legends of Tristan and Isolt, Merlin and King Arthur, were all here. I must suspend belief and listen with my heart, Tynan told me. There were few historical certainties here; truth wore a shroud of mystery.

When the conquering Normans arrived at this, the westernmost part of England, and heard that the ancient seat of Cornish kings had once topped this bleak headland, they built their own fortress at Tintagel. But it was the castle of imagination, painted by Tynan’s words, that held me spellbound. I shivered as his soft, well-rounded tones talked of “magic casements, opening on the foam of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.” Was it here that Tristan wooed Isolt? Where Merlin bewitched Uther Pendragon into the bed of Igerna? There where he fathered Arthur? As the sea light danced and salt spray flew, I believed beyond doubt that it was the truth.

I heard the clash of sword on shield. I saw lovely Guinevere, wise Merlin and noble Lancelot. The famed round table, magical Excalibur and the Arthurian code of chivalry all became real. And astride all was the mighty king himself…Arthur. His spectre, it was said, walked these ruins still.

“Do you see what that means?” Tynan asked, golden eyes shining. “If his ghost has been seen, he was true. Arthur lived.”

Taking a blanket and the picnic basket, we clambered down worn steps onto the pebble beach. We shared Mrs Huddlestone’s feast with the greedy gulls. There were enough sandwiches of hearty wholemeal bread filled with salted beef and mustard, or chicken and celery salt, to feed a small city. These were accompanied by cheese straws, cold potato salad and, of course, Cornish pasties. I marvelled at Tynan’s newfound appetite as we dipped apples and strawberries into a pot of clotted cream to round off our repast. We sat companionably close, leaning back against rocks, clinking our glasses of elderflower cordial together and smiling at this day which had already become a sweet, shared memory.

Tynan held my hand to help me across the pebbles to Merlin’s cave. It was a huge archway through the rocks under Tintagel. It was here that the waves washed Arthur ashore and the magician carried him to safety. That strange extra dimension to my imagination that had been with me all day helped me to see the tall, robed figure, holding aloft a light in the gloom of the cave. We ran across the damp sands into the hollow darkness of a smaller cave, and the sudden chill made me gasp. The air had a salty, mildew tang, and the walls oozed emerald slime. I wrinkled my nose at Tynan and instinctively moved closer to him. Coming to stand behind me, he covered my eyes with his hands.

“Make a wish,” he ordered. “It is said that there is magic here that will make your heart’s desire come true.”

But what was my heart’s desire? A few short days ago, I thought I knew. But those romantic, girlish dreams seemed foolish now. My thoughts were like raindrops falling on an endless ocean. Memories of Uther’s touch could still excite me, but my desire for him was tainted by darkness. I could not wish my innocence back. But the raging torture of my guilt was soothed by the simple balm of new friendship. My wish was for him, my friend. That Tynan would, henceforth, know only love and understanding. I opened my eyes and turned to scan his dear features. The watery murk lacked the slightest hint of gold, making his face appeared green-grey and haggard.

He grinned, teeth flashing white in the dim cave light. “Hope you get your wish,
hweg!
”

We lingered on the beach until the shadows lengthened. When, at last, we clambered back into the carriage, I felt a wild impulse to beg Tynan to turn the horses’ heads northwards. To keep driving until Tenebris was a million miles away. Instead, I sat silent beside him as the sun, now dim, discouraged and worn out, sank below the horizon.

“Did you wish?” I asked as the layered arches of Tenebris loomed. From this angle, the castle appeared to float just above the cliff on which it stood.

He shook his head. “Even heaven sleeps when I pray,” he said sadly, and the horses clattered into the courtyard where flambeaux already cast their wavering fire.

“What did you think of Merlin’s Cave? Could you feel the atmosphere as so many claim?” Uther asked later, drawing out my dining chair in a courtly gesture. I glanced back over my shoulder in surprise and encountered a look that caused my cheeks to smoulder with dull-red flames. “Tynan clings to the old legends,” he explained smoothly, taking his seat next to me. “So I assume he did take you there?”

But I knew he was lying. He had followed us, watched us. And he wanted me to know it. My thoughts were like moths, finding only shadows in darkness.

* * *

I paused and looked again at the plant growing, almost hidden, in a corner of the herb garden. Milk-white, moth-light blooms nestled in their bed of ivy-green leaves. It was well known to me, although I had never seen it in England until today. Known as the moonflower (because it only bloomed at night and was pollinated by nocturnal insects), its Hindu name was
dhatura
, meaning “eternal essence.” In India it was used in sacred rituals. Tea made from its crushed seeds was hallucinogenic and highly toxic. If used incorrectly, it could cause permanent psychosis. But, when administered by an expert, it could induce spectacular spiritual visions and superhuman abilities.

I remembered the stories I had heard of its effects on those who swallowed it. The inability to differentiate reality from fantasy, bizarre and possibly violent behaviour, severe aversion to light and pronounced amnesia… These were amongst the commonly reported effects.