The sky was an artist’s palette, with colours running and merging into the sea. The coastal path gave us scarlet fields of poppies daubed with splashes of paler wild flowers on one side and the contrasting drama of cliffs and wild breakers on the other. Surf roared and gulls screeched as I made my way, for the second time that day, down the steeply hewn rocks and into Athal Cove. The tang of salt, seaweed and summer frisked and played on the lilting breeze.
“What exactly do you want me to see here, hweg?” Tynan turned to offer me his hand as we neared the base of the cliff.
“There is someone I need you to talk to,” I explained, “or rather, I want you to listen to what he has to say.”
The white sand cove snuggled cosily under protecting cliffs. Sparkling turquoise waters reflected sharply off the white walls of a smattering of tiny cottages. Tynan told me that one of his earliest memories was of his father teaching him to swim in the placid waters of the bay. If you stood at the water’s edge, the uppermost towers of Tenebris could be seen, sentinel-like, guarding the bay. A row of long-ruined slate cottages huddled against the far cliff face and it was close to these that a small, agitated crowd had gathered.
Tynan, with an air of authority I had not dreamed he could possess, parted the crowds and bent over the prone form on the slipway. I knew before he eased the body over that it was Gem. In spite of the horror of the scene, the men doffed their caps to Tynan, and a woman, whom I recognised as Gem’s sister Violet, bobbed an awkward curtsy. Gem was recognisable by the right half of his face, which was still intact. The left side was a bloody pulp of bone and brain. Streamers of crimson blood flowed over the rocks and disappeared into the sea. A few curious gulls hovered expectantly. I raised a trembling hand to cover my mouth as hot bile surged into my throat.
“What happened here?” Tynan’s cool voice cut through the chatter.
“It’s my brother, Gem. He always came home at two for a bite to eat, my lord.” Violet’s voice wobbled, then righted itself. “I could set me clock by him, so I could. When it got to ten past, I came out to find him….”
“We heard Vi here shouting and come down to see what all the fuss were about,” a young man explained. “Then Your Lordship arrived.”
“He must’ve slipped on the rocks,” another man volunteered, but his companions rounded on him.
“Like a mountain goat he were on these cliffs!”
“Never missed his footing, even after a barrel o’grog!”
“Half his head’s been bashed in, cabbage-wits!”
“Aye, and there’s the stone the bastard—begging your pardon, miss—used!” This was said with a trembling finger levelled at the fist-sized, blood-covered rock that lay beside Gem’s sad body.
“But ’twere broad daylight and anyhow…why? Old Gem didn’t have the sense to be no harm to no one.”
I tuned out the voices and studied Tynan’s face as he rose, automatically brushing the knees of his trousers. It could not have escaped him. Gem had died in exactly the same place, and manner, as Tynan’s mother.
Uther’s belief that Tynan was controlled by a primal bloodlust seemed nonsensical to me then. True, his face was white and his mouth pinched, but there was no trace of hysteria or instability about him, despite the gruesome spectacle. As he took charge and gave orders for a doctor and magistrate to be summoned to the scene, he remained calm and in control. I looked around me. Laddie sat close by. His eyes were fixed on his beloved master and he swallowed convulsively, his whole body trembling. As I approached, with my hand outstretched, he looked up at something past my shoulder and commenced a low, keening howl. My eyes followed the dog’s old gaze. A rider had paused on the cliff edge. His glossy black horse plunged and sidled as he strained to bring it back under control. The horseman surveyed the scene below him for a long moment, before spurring his steed into a gallop.
* * *
“How much of my heart was shaped by these stone walls before I was even born, Lucy?” Tynan asked sadly. I wished I had an answer for him. In the darkest hours of the night, my fears for him soaked my pillow with tears. Gem’s murder had cast a melancholy pall over the village and permeated the castle. There was endless fascinated gossip about what might have happened. No longer could I share what the doomed old man had told me with Tynan, or anyone else. When Tynan eventually asked me to explain why I had taken him to the cove that day, I made a feeble excuse. Without Gem himself to tell it, the story of Uther’s involvement in the deaths of Ruan and Eleanor was not mine to share.
We were standing before the largest, most commanding portrait in the great hall. Arwen Jago looked down on us. “Well known for his venomous, hate-filled sermons and—er, shall we say ‘unconventional’?—lifestyle,” Tynan said, regarding his infamous ancestor with distaste.
“Uther told me all about him,” I studied the man in the portrait again. It still unnerved me to see those familiar features on that long-dead face.
“Did he now?” Tynan asked with interest. “I’m surprised at Uther, sullying your innocent ears with lewd stories! It’s not the sort of stuff one normally shares with a lady,” he said primly. I laughed, teasing him for his old-fashioned notions. But, at the same time, something snapped inside my chest. I wondered what he would think if he knew how very “uninnocent” I had become since I met Uther. I could not bear the possibility that Tynan’s warm, appreciative gaze might change abruptly to one of contempt.
“Arwen here had a theory that blood was the elixir of life. The more of it he could shed, the longer his own life would be. Mad as a box of frogs, of course…like so many of my dear family.” His tone was rueful, but his eyes twinkled at me. I marvelled anew at his ability to talk so lightly and openly about his affliction.
“Uther said Arwen killed children as part of a satanic pact.” A cold chill trickled down my spine as I studied the cruel, lascivious face that stared scornfully down at me.
“Yes, a regular charmer, wasn’t he? It was common knowledge that he killed his own brother in order to get his hands on the title.”
I shivered. He did not know, of course, how closely his words of past hatred and nameless violence echoed what I knew of present misdeeds. “Quite open he was, by all accounts. Said Satan had promised him eternal life if he gave him enough sacrifices in return. He had to keep trying to find Lucia, his lost love.” Tynan dug his hands into his pockets, pondering. “Thing is, why would anyone want to keep coming back as an evil, murdering debaucher?”
“I suppose if he enjoyed those things—and it appears he did!—then he might wish to do them for all eternity,” I said.
“Thank goodness he was unsuccessful, then.” He laughed. As we turned away, I had the oddest fancy that Arwen Jago’s stare continued to burn into the back of my neck.
* * *
Wadebridge was a pretty market town, and I exulted in the luxury of a whole day there with no company other than my own. I had explained to Demelza a few days before that I needed to purchase several items to refurbish some of my gowns. Port Isaac did not boast a haberdashery, so the market at Wadebridge was the most suitable place to fulfil my needs. She had exclaimed in delight at the prospect of a day’s shopping, and announced her intention of accompanying me.
When the morning of the proposed jaunt dawned, however, Demelza appeared at breakfast early and begged me to excuse her. She had a sickly headache (it must be the heat, she explained) and would probably spend much of the day resting in her room. I offered to postpone the expedition, but she would not hear of it. Tynan, accompanied by the ever-watchful Desmond, had set off early for the dubious pleasure of a day’s fishing, and Uther, my aunt informed me, had locked himself away in the Muniment Room with a pile of papers. Would I mind very much taking the carriage to Wadebridge by myself? Trying to hide my delight, I gave my solemn assurance that I would not. Giving Demelza a dutiful kiss on the cheek, I skipped away to get ready. My spirits were unusually light.
The journey took just over an hour, mainly because the roads were so poor, but I didn’t mind. I resolved to buy a newspaper and scan the situations for a suitable post. My pleasure at being away from Tenebris, however briefly, could not be ignored. My heart was sending my brain a loud, clear message.
Originally known as Wade, the town spanned two parishes, Egloshayle and St Breock, which were situated either side of the river Camel. It was said that medieval travellers gave thanks at both sides if they succeeded in safely crossing the fast-flowing waters at this dangerous fording point. When a bridge was built in the fifteenth century, the name was changed. I walked across that bridge on this fine sunny morning and pictured Cromwell’s men holding it for the Roundheads during the Civil War. Tynan told me that the Earl of Athal at that time—who was the brother of none other than the notorious Arwen Jago—had fought bravely on the side of the Cavaliers. He had been amply recompensed upon the restoration of King Charles II. Sadly, he had not lived long enough to enjoy his reward.
Having completed my few purchases, I stood on the old bridge, with its fifteen arches, enjoying the late August sunshine and looking out across the river. Crowds of visitors ebbed and flowed around me. The town had taken on a new fascination since the Wadebridge and Bodmin Railway Line opened a few years ago. This feat of modern engineering carried the first steam trains in Cornwall, and was the first in West Britain to carry passengers. It was there, on the bridge, that I spied a familiar figure walking toward me.
I waited until she drew level. “Betty?”
Her shock at seeing me was written plainly across her face. I thought she looked thin and drawn. She glanced nervously about her as though seeking a means of escape. Then she seemed to steel herself and said quietly, with a formal little nod, “Miss Lucy.”
“Can we go somewhere and talk?” I asked. My stomach actually churned in anticipation of her refusal, but after a minute’s silence, she nodded again. It was as if she had come at last to a decision and was glad of it.
“I live along here, just at the end of the bridge road,” she said quietly, and we fell into step with each other. “My mam might be a bit chuntery—you being from the castle, and all—but she’ll not refuse you a cup of tea.”
The house was set in the middle of a small terrace, its bland, grey exterior enlivened by pots of bright geraniums placed on either side of the door. The narrow hallway was dark and cool after the bright sunlight. Mrs Doughty, Betty’s mother, was a formidable little lady with a shadow of her daughter’s prettiness about her careworn features.
“She’ll not be going back there, miss!” she declared when Betty introduced me. Her hands, flour-coated from pie-making, were planted firmly on her hips to emphasise the point. “Not for a big clock she won’t!”
“Mam,” Betty said reproachfully, “Miss Lucy’s the lady I told you about…. She’s always been kind to me and anyway, she’s not one of them!”
Mrs Doughty seemed disappointed to be deprived of a fight in this manner and continued to eye me dubiously. Relenting slightly, she offered to make some tea. “Which I would not do for t’other one,” she told me darkly. “Ladyship or no ladyship! And no better than she should be, by all accounts. But my lips are sealed on that matter.”
I had a feeling that, with a little encouragement from me, her lips would be speedily unsealed. It was not for idle chit-chat about the Jagos that I had come to her home, however. And the “accounts” about Demelza to which she referred must be based on gossip. No one knew better than I that Demelza, even if she wished to behave in a less than respectable manner, never had any opportunity to do so. Whatever she may have been in her younger days, she certainly did not now encounter any men with whom she might even consider having an improper liaison.
Even so, Mrs Doughty’s word took my mind back to the time I thought I heard Demelza laughing with a man behind her bedroom door. But, apart from the night of the ball, there were no male visitors to the castle. Could it have been a servant? Surely not! Uther’s anger, should the family name be so defiled, would know no bounds, and his opinion mattered to his sister above all others.
Betty persuaded Mrs Doughty to leave us alone and, after plying me with tea and home-baked bread with thick yellow butter and honey, she reluctantly did so. I studied Betty thoughtfully, wondering how to broach my concerns with her, but she started the conversation.
“I’ve not told mam the whole story,” she said, twisting her hands together in her lap. “She thinks they—the family—were just a bit unkind to me.”
“What is the whole story, Betty? Please tell me.”
Her lip trembled pitifully, but she got it back under control. “I do want to tell you, miss. I did even then while it was happening, to warn you, but I was scared. It started pretty much straight away. He said he’d noticed me because I was new and young. He said the castle needed more young people.” Tynan’s words at the dinner table the night Betty left came back to me and chilled me. “Then he seemed to go out of his way to seek me out. Said I was pretty and… Oh, Miss Lucy, I liked it! I liked him saying those things to me, at first.”
“Of course you did, Betty!” I reassured her. “What girl doesn’t want to hear that she’s pretty? And when the compliment comes from her employer…”
“But he changed. It was around the time you came, miss. I was so happy to be serving you, but he started…” She swallowed hard. “Touching me.”
“Where did he touch you?” I asked. Did I really want to hear this? All of the details?
“Here,” she placed a hand to her breast. “And he kissed me. It was horrible,” she said with candid innocence. “He put his tongue in my mouth! And he was panting. He told me it was my fault! He said he couldn’t help himself. And then, the night of the storm…” Her hands were squirming now as if they had a life of their own, and her eyes were huge with unshed tears. I went and sat next to her, placing an arm about her shoulders. She rested her head on my shoulder gratefully. “He asked me to come and build up the fire in his room. I was surprised because the footmen usually do that in the west wing, but I didn’t think anything of it.” Her voice sank to a whisper. “He locked the door and then he…he did things to me.”
“You mean he raped you?” My voice was cold and hard. It was a word I had never said aloud. Rape was still a taboo subject, one which no lady would ever admit to knowing anything about. But I was so angry that I was not prepared to disguise what had happened to Betty by wrapping it in a euphemism. Betty’s curls tickled my chin as she nodded her head.
“Miss, I didn’t encourage him, like he said afterward! I swear. I tried to stop him, honest I did, but he was too strong, and he hurt me.” The sobs came then, flowing fast and freely, and I rocked her in my arms as I would a child. My anger was ice cold but no less dangerous for its lack of heat. “He said it wouldn’t happen again after that first time. I didn’t know what to do. I needed my job and so I stayed. But he came upon me in the corridor and dragged me into one of the spare bedchambers and…” She drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I thought he was going to kill me. When he’d gone, I went to my own room, packed up my things and left.”
“Betty.”
She dried her eyes on a handkerchief and looked up at me with those trusting blue eyes.
“You could be carrying his child.”
She shook her head vehemently, curls flying. “No, miss. I was worried about that, but it’s one thing I’ve been spared. Thank the Lord.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Even so, just because he is an earl, it does not mean he can’t be brought to justice.”
“But, Miss Lucy! It weren’t His Lordship what did them things to me!” And I did not know, in that instant of realisation, whether to be relieved or very afraid. “Good Lord, no, miss! He was always such a nice, polite young man. No, it was Mr Uther.” The tears spilled over again and, through them, she added, “And when he was doing those things to me…when he was—” she gagged on the word “—raping me, as you just said, he kept calling me ‘Lucia.’”
My mind went blank then.
It was almost an hour later when I left. Betty made me promise I would not go to the authorities and I reluctantly agreed. I had to admit to myself that, in a case where it would be her word against Uther’s, it was difficult to imagine that she would be the one believed. And, even in the unlikely event that he was brought to trial, Betty’s name, and that of her family, would be dragged through the mud. No right-thinking man would take to wife a woman who had lost her virginity, even by force, if the fact became public knowledge. No, much as it pained me, Betty’s chosen course of action—pretending that it did not happen—was the wisest one.
Mrs Doughty relented slightly towards me as I took my leave of her. “If you want my advice, miss, you’ll do what our Betty done and get out of that nasty place. Bunch o’ heathens. Didn’t ought to be allowed in this day and age.” And that, I decided, as I made my way back across the bridge to the carriage, was a very sound piece of advice. My untethered spirits of a few hours before were shrouded now in darkness and self-loathing.
* * *
On alighting from the carriage, I paused in the courtyard, looking up at the imposing facade that would never be familiar to me, trying to decide what to do. I was aware of Pascoe regarding me with interested bemusement as I gave a decisive little nod. I headed for the Muniment Room, pausing to remove my hat and coat and hand them to a footman. The Muniment Room was a fascinating archive of the family history. It was also Uther’s particular domain. With walls lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves and neatly labelled drawers, it smelled of old books, beeswax and memories. The door was ajar and, as I approached it, I paused, my resolution faltering slightly.
Before I could enter, Demelza’s taunting voice reached me, and I shrank back into the corridor’s shadows. “Have you tupped her yet?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Uther’s response was terse. “You know as well as I do that we dare not risk a child before we are sure of her, but I have been keeping her happy, yes. She is smitten, and surprisingly passionate. She’ll do anything I ask, just as we planned, although she is proving unexpectedly stubborn in the matter of the wedding.”
“And when the time comes, will she, with her boyish body and milky-white skin, please you, as I do?”
“There is no one like you.” His voice was low, hoarse, and I heard her laugh in response. “There never will be anyone to make me feel as you do, and well do you know it.”
“Show me,” she ordered, and unable to help myself, I tiptoed to the open doorway. She was seated on the desk, her skirts about her waist while he stood, fully clothed, between her bare legs. As I watched, she tightened her ankles around his buttocks to draw him closer. Her gown had been pulled down so that her breasts were bare and he reached out a hand. Slowly, deliberately he took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed it hard. She groaned, the expression on her face somewhere between pain and ecstasy. As she began to unbutton his breeches, I turned and fled.
I ran and ran until I feared my lungs would burst. I paused at the top of the cliff, so close to the edge that I felt the tiny stones beneath my feet give way and slither down into the abyss. Panting, I stood there for long, aching minutes, allowing the wind to tug my hair free of its pins and the salt breeze to cleanse my face. The hollow cry of the gulls told the story of rusty chains twisting tight around my heart. My stomach gave up the fight and emptied its contents onto the grass. I retched until I could no longer stand. And then I sat on that high clifftop until weeping clouds swallowed the last beams of sunlight and gentle rain caressed my skin.
I looked back at Tenebris, its soaring ramparts rising up from the cliff’s own face. Proud. Gaunt. Doomed. The thought of going back there cloaked my soul in fear. But within that cursed place there was one fresh green shoot of truth, one bright ray of hope, for the Jago future, but also for me: if I was to salvage anything of my pride, ever to value myself once more, I could not—would not—abandon Tynan now.
* * *
“Why, child, you look positively frozen!” Demelza was writing a letter, her chair and a small table drawn close to the fire in the great hall. I was struck again by her remarkable beauty. She rose as I came in through the door and reached out a hand to me in greeting.
I shrank away. “I am quite drenched,” I explained at the look of enquiry on her face. I would never again see her without imagining the twisted, tortured expression she wore as she welcomed her own brother into her body.
“Don’t tell me you went to Wadebridge without so much as a hat!” She regarded me with mild amusement.
“No, but I returned earlier than I expected,” I said, and a slightly guarded look shadowed the amber depths of her eyes. “I went straight out again for a walk along the cliff path.”
“Then get yourself away to your room and have them bring you water for a bath! We cannot have you catching a chill.” She waved me away and returned to her letter. Her unruffled manner indicated to me, as nothing else could, that the depravity I had witnessed was routine. I wondered how often Uther had stoked his lust with me only to slake it on her, or on poor, terrified Betty. The thought made my stomach rise rebelliously once more, but I quashed the feeling.
* * *
“Tynan, what was the name of your nurse?” I asked. He must have heard the urgency in my tone for he frowned slightly.
“Maggie,” he said warily. “Why on earth do you ask?”
“Is she still alive?” We were seated on our bench in the rose garden, and a soft breeze filled the whole world with the radiant fragrance of the delicate blooms.
He looked startled. “I hope so! She was not so very old, you know, hweg. But her eyesight began to fail and she was obliged, eventually, to leave.”
“What was her other name?” I asked. The blooms had wept pink-and-white tears onto the lawn. I picked some of the petals up from the grass and crushed them between my fingers. Tynan caught up my hand and lifted it to his face to inhale the freshly crushed scent. I hoped he would not ask why I wanted to know about his nurse. Truth be told, I was not really sure myself. It was a half-formed, almost nonsensical whimsy that had taken hold of me. I would be embarrassed to say the words aloud.
“Scadden,” he said. “Maggie was my mother’s maid when she first came to Tenebris, and she was fiercely loyal to her.” His eyes bored into my face. I sensed he wanted to know more. I was pleased he trusted me enough not to ask. “I wish I could see her again, but it would break her poor heart to know…” He turned his face away briefly, but not before I saw the sadness in his eyes.
We sat in companionable silence until a shadow fell over us. Looking up, I recoiled to feel the dark gold weight of Uther’s gaze upon me.
“Do you care to escort me on my ride, Lucy?” His words were clipped and he pointedly ignored Tynan’s presence. I knew how in tune he was with my thoughts, and I tried to hide the disgust I felt when I looked at him now.
I rose from my seat. “Thank you, but I cannot,” I said. His eyes glinted with annoyance, which I chose to overlook. “Mrs Huddlestone has promised to teach me to make a suet pudding this morning and I must not keep her waiting.” It was not entirely true. Although Mrs Huddlestone had indeed once scathingly suggested that I might benefit from learning how to make the stodgy dessert, no time or day for such a lesson had ever been specified.
The little cook regarded me in some surprise when I entered the cool kitchen with its fresh-baked bread scent and jars of enticing preserves. Unlike Mrs Lethbridge and Miss Clatterthorpe, she did not regard my every movement with hawklike disapproval. Nor did she seem to be waiting for me to commit an indiscretion. Mrs Huddlestone was an incorrigible gossip and it was on this trait of hers on that I was pinning my hopes as I took a seat at her long, scrubbed table. Before I could attempt to glean any information from her, I was, of course, obliged to consume several potato cakes, topped with bacon and washed down with a tankard of home-pressed apple juice.
“Maggie Scadden?” Mrs Huddlestone asked in some surprise. “Why ever do you ask about her?”
“Oh, just that His Lordship mentioned her and I know someone in London who is looking for a good nurse,” I replied airily, hoping that my prepared story did not sound rehearsed. “And I wondered, since she appears to come so highly recommended, if she might still be available.”
“Blind as a bat, she is now. Terrible sad it was.” She shook her head, her little mouth pursing even further. “Even Lady Demelza with all her potions couldn’t do ’owt to help her.” She sighed.
“How dreadful!” I sympathised. “Did she move away from the area? I notice she does not come to visit.”
“No, indeed. She lives in Padstow, but last I heard was she doesn’t get out much these days. Now, roll up your sleeves, miss, and do put on this pinny over your pretty dress, and I’ll show you how to bake a scone that’ll melt even the hardest heart.” I sighed. This, I supposed, was a fitting punishment for my artifice.