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

going to be far from dull, stimulated me, and I felt more alive than I had since Philip's death. I wondered why my mother had left here so hurriedly and mysteriously. I was determined to find out. How different my life would have been if she had not!

And as I stood there the guardroom seemed to take on a menacing aspect, and it occurred to me that I had come here in rather a reckless fashion. Oh no, this was my family. I was just feeling uneasy because of the shock of finding that Jago Kellaway was the man who had frightened me in the house in Finlay Square. He was a sort of joker in an unconventional way. There were people like that. He had admitted he liked dramatic happenings. Yes, I thought, with him playing the leading swashbuckling role!

This apprehension was natural. Hadn't I always been impressed by atmosphere? I shuddered now to recall the repulsion I had felt when I had first entered the house in Finlay Square. This room—medieval in aspect—with the weapons on its walls—two swords crossed, an ax, something which was half spear, half battle-ax and which I believed was called a halberd—had subconsciously reminded me of the gun room at Trentham Towers where Philip had shown me the pistol, the fellow of which had been the weapon which had killed him. It was this shadowy memory which was tapping on my mind now, reminding me of hidden dangers. I fancied that just as I had sensed a warning in the house in Finlay Square, so I did now in Kellaway Castle.

I moved towards the door; my footsteps ringing on the marble paving stones seemed to fill the guardroom with sound. I stood still. What a silence! It is foolish to endow a house with a personality. But is it? When a house has stood for seven hundred years much must have happened within its walls. If those stones could speak what tales they would have to tell! And in houses such as this there would have been gaiety and sorrow, comedy and tragedy. I have the feeling sometimes that these emotions have been captured and held within stone walls and that there are times when they cannot keep them secret.

Stupid imaginings, but I was in an uncertain state. I was trying to throw off one life with all its unhappy repercussions and embrace a new one of which I was equally uncertain.

I stepped out into a courtyard and saw an archway which appeared to be cut into the wall. It led into another courtyard slightly lower than the one I had just left and I crossed it and went down steps to an even lower one. A few windows looked out onto this courtyard; they were small and leaded. There was yet another archway and from this wound a pathway with stone walls on either side. I took this pathway.

As I walked along it I heard the sudden flutter of wings and the cooing sound of birds. I had come into yet another courtyard. This was where the cooing sound had come from, for there were several pigeons pecking at maize which was scattered over the stones.

As I approached, some of them fluttered up and perched on the little dovecotes which were attached to the walls; others ignored me and went on picking up the maize. Most of the pigeons were the bluish gray common color but some of them were brown. I had never seen pigeons that color before.

As I stood there watching the birds I was aware of a shadow at a lower window. Someone was watching me.

I turned sharply. The shadow was no longer there.

I looked back at the birds and waited. Now the shadow had come back. I could see it from the corner of my eye.

I called: "Are these your birds?"

There was no answer. I went closer to the window where I had seen the shadow, but it was no longer there.

There was a little door in the wall and I tapped on it. I wanted to ask about the brown pigeons. I realized that it had been slightly ajar and as I stood there it was quietly shut. Someone on the other side of the door was clearly determined to keep me out.

I fancied I could hear the sound of heavy breathing.

How strange! Well, if whoever was there didn't want to speak to me, I wouldn't disturb him ... or her. Yet the impulse came to me to knock again on the door and I did so.

There was no answer.

I called out: "I only want to ask about the pigeons."

Still no answer.

How odd. How unfriendly. It was some servant, I supposed. I shrugged my shoulders, left the birds' courtyard and went back the way I had come.

Perhaps it was rather foolish to begin to explore the castle on my own. It would be far better if I had a guide to show me round. There would be someone who would be delighted to do so I was sure.

I found my way back to my room, where I must now dress for dinner. I decided I would wear the blue dress, which was extremely elegant, and I wondered if I should ever need the black serviceable one which I had worn on the night of Esmeralda's dance when Philip had proposed to me. If I had Philip's orchid it would look quite charming. . . .

Now I was back in the past again. Could I ever escape from it? Would I ever be able to thrust aside my memories? Even as I put on the blue dress I remembered how I had imagined wearing it dining with Philip on the Grand Canal. I shook myself angrily.

How clearly that first night in the castle stands out in my memory.

A servant came to my room to conduct me down to the anteroom where the family were waiting for me. Jago was standing in front of the fireplace, his hands clasped