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

answer, there was a knock on the door and the boy Jim put his head in.

"Mr. Jago is in his parlor. He says Miss Kellaway is to go to him there."

Janet said: "All right, Jim. Get you gone. Come Miss, Mr. Jago don't like to be kept waiting."

I found that my hands were trembling. I was about to see this man of whom in the last few days I had begun to build up a formidable picture in my mind.

And so I went down to the parlor and my first meeting with Jago Kellaway. It was a magnificent room, that parlor with a deep bow window overlooking the sea. There was a big open fireplace with firedogs and a long stool in front covered with a tapestry which blended in with that which hung on the walls, and the ceiling was decorated with checkers and diapers in a pattern which incorporated the arms of the family. The name "parlor" seemed incongruous when applied to such a room. It was gracious and dignified, but all this I noticed much later.

Janet had knocked at the door and when it opened, as if by magic, I advanced into the room. At first I thought there was no one there and then I heard a laugh behind me. The door was shut and he was standing leaning against it, studying me with amusement.

"You!" I cried. "You . . . Jago Kellaway!"

For the man who faced me was the dark man who had spoken to me at the recital and had been in the house in Finlay Square that morning when Rollo had come and found us together.

I felt a tingling sensation run down my spine. It was a mingling of horror and amazement.

"But I don't understand," I stammered.

"I thought you'd be surprised." There was laughter in his voice as he took my arm. I had forgotten how big he was. He drew me into the room and led me to the window. There he put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my face.

"Ellen," he said. "At last!"

"I should like to know ..." I began.

"Of course you would. You are a very curious young lady and I'll agree with you that it must seem a little odd."

"A little odd! I feel as if I'm dreaming. Why did you come to London? What were you doing at the recital? What were you doing in the house in Finlay Square? Why didn't you tell me who you were, and who are you anyway?"

"You ask too many questions which I can't answer all at once. First, I want to welcome you to Kellaway Island and to tell you how very happy I am to have you here at last. You are indeed a Kellaway. You take after your father. He was a very impatient man."

"Will you please explain . . ."

"Certainly I will explain. Come, my dear Ellen. Sit down and I will answer every question."

He led me to a chair with carved arms and a tapestry-covered seat, and almost pushed me into it. Then very deliberately, as though he enjoyed my impatience and was not in the least eager to alleviate it, he drew up a chair for himself. It was like a throne, that chair. Large—it had to be, because he was a large man—it was ornately carved and there was an inlay of stone in the back which looked like lapis.

Now I could look fully at him. He was even more impressive than he had been in London. His hair was thick and dark; I noticed again those heavy-lidded eyes which I felt even then could hide so much; they were now surveying me with obvious pleasure. He wore a midnight-blue velvet smoking jacket and a white cravat. His hands, resting on the arms of his thronelike chair, were well shaped and slightly bronzed and he wore a signet ring on the little finger of his right hand on which I could make out the letter K.

"First," he said, "you ask who I am. I will tell you. I am Jago Kellaway. And what is my connection with you? you ask. Well, my dear Ellen, it is a little complicated. I had better tell you myself or you will no doubt hear garbled versions of the story. It's rather a common one." His lips twitched as though he were amused. "And perhaps a little indelicate for your ears. But no. You come from the sophisticated London world and will know that matters of this nature arise now and then in the most sedate families. Am I right?"

"I can't say until I hear it," I replied sharply, because something about him made me want to do battle with him. He knew how eager I was to know and he deliberately took his time in telling me. He had come to London and acted in a strange manner which had caused me a good deal of concern and it was clear that he thought that in itself was a great joke. I had imagined "my guardian," as he had called himself, to be quite different, and while I was all eagerness to understand the mystery which surrounded him, I felt irritated by him.

"The Bar Sinister comes into this," he said. "One of our ancestors—not so very far back, your great-grandfather—had a sister named Gwennol. Gwennol was beautiful and wild. There is a picture of her in the gallery. I must show it to you. The Kellaways were a great family. They owned the Islands and they lived here in some state. A grand marriage would have been arranged for Gwennol, but one day she proudly announced that she was about to have a child. She would not name the father nor had she any intention of marrying. Her father, furious with her, threatened to turn her out of the castle unless she told him who was the father of her child. This she refused to do. She left the castle, taking with her several of