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

prospered. Crops have been, good. You might say that's in the hands of God. But it is a fact that it's in the hands of Jago Kellaway as well. I've introduced modern farming methods; I've discovered good ways of marketing. There is so much one can do with foresight on an island like this. Your father and I didn't always see eye to eye with one another, Ellen."

"Oh?" I said, wanting him to go on. Anything he could tell me about my father was of the utmost interest to me.

"He was ill for a long time before he died. That left the reins in my hands."

"And it was then that things began to improve?"

"People on the Island will tell you so. There! Now you're not so happy. Don't talk about the past, Ellen. You're here. Let's go on from there."

He smiled at me and I fancied I saw in his eyes that which faintly alarmed me. But I was in a happy mood as we rode into the stables. It had been an exciting and stimulating morning.

It was afternoon. We had had a luncheon of cold meats and salad, Jenifry, Jago and I. Gwennol had gone to the mainland. "She often gets one of the men to row her over on calm days like this," Jenifry explained.

She asked how I had enjoyed the morning and where we had been. She was very pleasant and I felt I had been overfanciful about the image I had seen in the mirror on the previous night.

Jago had to leave on some estate business and Jenifry told me she rested in the afternoons, so I said I would take a stroll round the castle alone. I should enjoy discovering things for myself.

It was about half past two when I set out—a beautiful September afternoon with the sun picking out pearly tints in the water. I passed between the battlemented bastions to a courtyard and before me was a Gothic arch and two stone steps considerably worn in the middle by thousands of footsteps. I should never cease to marvel at the countless people who must have trodden the castle steps to wear down the stone as it obviously was, and to wonder about their lives. I was in another courtyard which looked familiar and then I heard the cooing of the pigeons and recognized this as the spot I had visited on the previous evening.

Then I saw him. He was very small with a thatch of hair so fair that it was almost white; his eyes were very pale and the fact that he had fair sparse eyebrows and lashes gave him a look of surprise.

He turned suddenly and saw me. I judged him then to be about fourteen or fifteen although before I had seen his face, on account of his being so small, he had appeared to be younger.

He carried a bowl of maize in his hands and as he looked at me a bird perched on his shoulder. A look of fear came over his face and he started to walk towards the outhouse where I had seen a shadow when I was there before and which I now guessed to have been his.

I cried out: "Don't go, please. I've come to see the pigeons."

But he continued to move towards the outhouse.

"If you go the pigeons won't be fed," I reminded him. "Do let me see you feed them. I love the way they flutter round you."

He paused as though he were giving a great deal of consideration to his next move.

I had an inspiration. "I think you must be Slack," I said. "I met your mother at the inn."

He smiled slowly and nodded.

"I'm Ellen Kellaway. I've come to stay here for a while."

"Do you like the pigeons?" he asked.

"I don't know much about them, but I did hear the story of the brown pigeons taking the messages, and I thought that was wonderful."

"These take messages," he said proudly.

"It's like a miracle. They just know where to go, don't they?"

A smile crossed his face. "You train them," he said. He took a handful of maize from the bowl and threw it onto the cobbles. Several of the birds flew down and pecked at it. Some remained perched on the bowl. They cooed contentedly.

"I believe they know you," I said.

"Of course they do."

"How long have you been looking after them?"

"Ever since I've been here." He started counting on his fingers. It seemed something like five years.

"I saw you in there last night," I said, pointing to the outhouse.

"I saw you," he replied with a sly smile.

"I called you but you pretended you didn't hear."

He nodded and continued to look sly.

"May I look in now?"

"Do you want to?"

"Of course I do. I'm getting very interested in pigeons."

He opened the door and we stepped down three stone steps into a small room where sacks of maize and drinking troughs were stored.

"It's my pigeon house," he said. "But I've got to finish feeding them now."

We went back into the courtyard. He held out his arm and two birds immediately alighted on it. "There, my pretties," he murmured. "Be 'ee come to see Slacky then?"

I took a handful of the maize and threw it onto the cobbles. He watched the birds pecking at it. "You like pigeons, Miss," he said. "Her liked 'em too."

"Her?"

He nodded vigorously. "Her liked 'em. Her'd come and help me feed 'em. Then she went away."

"Who was that, Slack?" I asked.

"Her," he said. His eyes were bewildered. "Her just went away."

He was disturbed by the memory. I could see that he had almost forgotten my existence. He went on feeding the pigeons and because I could see that to question him further would only disturb him and make him less inclined to talk, I strolled off.

The next day Gwennol took me round the castle.

"Let's begin with the dungeons," she said. "They're really quite eerie."

We descended a stone spiral staircase clinging to a rope banister and as we did so she warned me