Lord of the Far Island by Victoria Holt (romance book recommendations TXT) 📗

you aught but the best. We'll have your bags sent up in a trice."

She hesitated. She had scarcely taken her eyes from me since she had seen me. I looked at her inquiringly, for I had the impression that she wanted to tell me something.

She did. After a second or so's hesitation she burst out: "I knew your mother. You'm like her."

"You knew my mother! How interesting."

She nodded. "I were maid to her before I married Tom Pengelly. I were with her . . . until she left."

"I'm so glad to meet someone who knew her. I was five when she died and one doesn't remember very much at that age."

She nodded. "Well, so you'm here. Little Miss Ellen! My word, you've changed."

I smiled. "I suppose I have since you last saw me. I could only have been about three years old then."

"Time passes," she mused. "It seems only yesterday, though much have happened since, I reckon. My boy's over there." She nodded towards the window. "He works for Mr. Jago. You look out for Augustus—though he be known as Slack."

"I will," I promised.

"I were married soon after your mother went off and Pengelly and I had Augustus. There be nothing wrong with him. 'Twere just that he were born too soon. He'm a good boy."

There was a knock on the door and a maid appeared with hot water followed by a boy with my bags.

"There be roast pig cooking in the oven," said Mrs. Pengelly as she went out.

I crossed to the window and looked at a magnificent view of the sea. I strained my eyes for a glimpse of the Island but all I could see were ominous dark clouds which were being scurried across a gray sky by that wind which was whipping up the white horses whose presence was holding me on the mainland.

There was a tap on the door and a girl with towels entered.

"Can you ever see the Far Island from here?" I asked her.

"If it be clear enough, Miss."

As I washed and changed my blouse I was becoming more and more excited, for now I should learn something about my parents. All I knew was that they had been unhappy together because my mother had left my father. I had often wondered about him and pictured him as a sort of ogre. I believed then that this adventure was going to prove exactly what I needed to take me away from a past in which I could only grieve for Philip's death and suffer a certain remorse because I had not appreciated him enough when he was alive.

I did not unpack very much since I hoped I should be leaving the next day when the white horses had "gone to stable." I wondered whether Jago Kellaway would come to meet me and what he would be like. There had been a very warm welcome in his letter and I was growing very eager to meet him.

As I descended the stairs the savory smell of roasting pork made me feel hungry for the first time since Philip's death. There were no other guests in the dining room and, seeing that I had noticed this, Mrs. Pengelly explained that it was early yet. "We thought you'd be ready for it after traveling," she added.

I assured her that I was and I was sure that she was glad, as I was, that we were the only people in the dining room because that gave us an opportunity to talk.

"You must have known my mother very well," I began, determined to make the most of that opportunity.

"Oh yes, Miss Kellaway. You too, when you was a little 'un. You was a lively one, you was. 'Twas one body's work keeping you out of mischief."

"Why did my mother leave the Island?"

Mrs. Pengelly looked taken aback. "Well, my dear, that were for reasons best known to herself. Reckon her and your father didn't get along so well."

The innkeeper came into the room saying that he wanted to know how I was enjoying the meal and when I told him it was excellent, he rubbed his hands together and looked pleased; but I did intercept a look he gave his wife and I wondered whether he had come not only to assure himself of my satisfaction but to warn her against talking too much.

"If there's anything else you'm wanting," he began.

I told him there was nothing and his wife asked if I would like coffee and, when I said I would, she replied that it would be served in the inn parlor.

"I'll bring it to 'ee," she added, with, I thought, a promise to continue our conversation, but when she brought it and I tried to ask her more about my parents, she clamped her lips together as though she was not going to let them say what they would obviously have liked to, and I guessed her husband had warned her against indiscreet talk.

Was there something mysterious about the Island and its inhabitants? I wondered.

I finished my coffee and went up to my room, where I sat by the window looking out over the sea. It was a beautiful sight, for the moon had arisen and was throwing a pathway of silver light across the dark water. I fancied the sea was calmer than it had been on my arrival and that the wind was less persistently strong.

They'll come for me in the morning, I told myself.

The great feather bed in the cozy room was warm, but I could not sleep very well and when I did doze it was inevitable that I should have the dream. This time it was vague and shadowy. Again I stood in the room which I just recognized by the red curtains, but as the objects, with which I had become familiar over the years—the rocking chair, the picture, the brick fireplace, the gate-legged table and the rest—began to take shape, I awoke.

My feelings as I did so were not so much of