The Secret Kiss of Darkness (10 page)

‘Who?’

‘What? Oh, just one of my relatives. Uhm, can we look for the rest of the things I wrote down?’

‘Sure, let me see. “
Sir John Marcombe
”, you want to find his christening? You haven’t written down a date.’

‘I know, but it should be around the same time, perhaps slightly before or after.’

‘Let’s check from 1740 onwards and see what we find. We’ll write down any Marcombes and then puzzle out their relationships later.’

They found the christening of ‘
John Marcombe, son of Sir Philip, gent. and his wife Martha, Lady Marcombe
’ in 1750, then the baptism of another baby called Margaret roughly a year later. A week after the christening, both baby Margaret and Martha, Lady Marcombe, were buried, presumably together.

‘Oh, how sad,’ Kayla said. ‘So Sir Philip was left all alone with a one-year-old son, poor man.’

‘Yes, Lady Marcombe probably died of puerperal fever. A lot of the midwives didn’t know the meaning of hygiene in those days.’

‘How awful. We’re so lucky nowadays, aren’t we?’

They continued their search and the parish registers revealed that Sir Philip had died in 1774 and a year later, in 1775, his son, Sir John, married a Miss Mary Ashford.

‘They don’t seem to have had any kids though,’ Jessie commented when they found no children of that union. ‘And look, this Lady Marcombe is recorded in the burial register in 1778 having apparently succumbed to a fever of some sort, and barely a year later Sir John, widower, remarries a Miss Elizabeth Anne Wesley.’

‘Yes, you’re right.’ Kayla could hardly believe her eyes. Everything Jago had said was true. Every last thing.
Damn! How can that be?

‘Let’s see if they had any children then,’ Jessie muttered, scrolling the film slowly forward, not noticing that Kayla had gone very quiet. ‘Nothing in 1780 … nor ’81, strange. I usually find babies within the first two years of marriage. Oh, hang on, look.’

Kayla peered at the screen and read, ‘
Baptised, April 30th, 1782, Wesley John son of Sir John Marcombe, Bt. (born March 23rd).
No mention of his wife. I wonder why?’

‘Their names weren’t always written down, it was the father who was important. Oh, and look, there’s a page missing here so we don’t know if mother and child survived. I hate when that happens!’

There appeared to be no other children either before or after this date, although they checked the baptismal register up to and including the year 1810, by which time the son called Wesley John was married and had children of his own.

‘So does that help you?’ Jessie asked.

‘Yes, it was exactly what I needed. I don’t know how to thank you enough, you’ve been great.’

‘Don’t worry about it, I enjoyed myself. Seriously, it’s always satisfying when you find what you’re looking for and believe me, that’s not usually the case. You see what I mean now about the thrill of the chase?’ Jessie’s violet-blue eyes were shining with excitement.

Kayla nodded, but thought to herself that Jessie had no idea of the added spice involved in this particular chase.

As Jago soon discovered, Mr Gainsborough was an easy enough man to please. Plenty of good wine and a willing serving wench and the man was happiness personified. Long after his nephew had retired, Mr Gainsborough entertained Jago’s other customers with his witty comments, animated conversation and musical abilities. Having caught sight of a fiddle, he played a number of tunes, and the taproom was a lively, happy place that evening.

Jago found the time to sit with his guest for a while.

‘Ah, Mr Kerswell. This is a very snug little inn you have here. Very nice indeed.’

‘Thank you kindly. Most gentlemen find it beneath their expectations.’ Jago grinned to show he didn’t care about such men or their opinions.

‘Bah! Gentlemen. There is only one good thing about them – their purse. Do you know,’ Mr Gainsborough leaned closer to whisper confidentially in the manner of someone who has drunk slightly more than is advisable, ‘if it were not for the fact that I must needs earn some money and my wife won’t stop her infernal nagging, I wouldn’t paint another portrait. Not ever.’

‘You paint a lot of them then, Mr Gainsborough?’

‘Oh, yes. The wretched face business is what keeps the wolf from my door. If I had a choice, I would spend all my time painting landscapes. To me, there is nothing more wonderful than such tranquil, rural scenes – it’s what life is all about.’

‘I agree, sir.’

‘Mind you, there are the occasional faces which are worth capturing in paint. Take the lady we met with this morning, for instance. Now that is what real grace and beauty looks like. I would like to do a portrait of her, indeed I would.’

‘Why don’t you stay for a few days then, at my expense of course, and paint the lady? I’m sure she would be agreeable.’ And I would love to have a likeness of her, Jago added silently to himself. ‘No doubt she’ll pay you well for your efforts too. Her husband is well to do. In fact, I’m sure she could persuade him to buy some of your landscapes and seascapes too.’

‘Excellent idea, dear fellow. I shall tell my nephew in the morning.’ Mr Gainsborough’s decision made with admirable speed, he continued with the evening’s entertainment.

Eliza proved uncommonly stubborn, however, and refused to have her portrait done unless Mr Gainsborough promised to do one of Jago as well. He grudgingly agreed and set up his easel near the cove where they had first met.

‘Why do you wish to paint me here, Mr Gainsborough? Would it not be more convenient indoors?’ Eliza asked him.

‘No, dear lady. You see, your colouring blends in perfectly with the natural environment here and that is how I wish to capture you.’

The artist chalked in the rough position of the face on his canvas, then he released it from the stretcher and pulled it over by strings fastened temporarily at the back until he came to the edge of the canvas. He placed his easel right up against Eliza’s head and she glanced at him in confusion.

‘I need to see your features at close quarters, my lady,’ he explained. ‘It will make for a better likeness, I assure you.’

‘Very well.’ Never having sat for her portrait before, Eliza didn’t argue. She was wearing a simple moss-green gown, of which Mr Gainsborough had heartily approved, and he insisted on her hair hanging loose.

‘Wonderful. Your ash-blonde hair, hazel eyes and green gown blend in with the rocks, moss and lichen perfectly. This will be a superb composition, I promise you.’

Jago, keeping watch from a respectful distance, felt sure the man was right. Besides, any picture with Eliza in it was bound to be delightful.

‘You actually found it? All of it?’ Maddie’s voice on the phone sounded incredulous, which was exactly how Kayla herself felt.

‘Yes, down to the last detail. It was amazing, truly amazing.’

‘And you thought you dreamed it all?’

‘I did dream it, I swear to you. I can’t possibly have talked to a man in a painting. But how do you explain all the facts we found?’

‘It’s weird. Really spooky, actually. It’s sending shivers down my spine. Maybe he’s haunting you and it’s not the painting you’re talking to but a spirit.’

‘It’s a possibility I suppose. I hadn’t thought of that. A ghost.’ Kayla drew in a deep breath. She had always been slightly afraid of the supernatural and never wanted to hear ghost stories as a child.

Maddie was quiet for a while before asking, ‘So what are you going to do now?’

‘I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to find out if this Marcombe Hall is still owned by Sir John’s descendants, and then maybe pay them a visit. What do you think? Does that sound crazy to you?’

‘Actually, I think this is the most exciting thing I’ve ever heard. And the most incredible.’

They both started laughing in a slightly hysterical way, which let out some of the tension and made it all seem more bearable somehow. Kayla felt that maybe everything was going to be all right after all. If Maddie believed her and was on her side, she could face anything. She had proved beyond doubt her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her. Now she had to continue the search. What else could she do? It was too intriguing not to.

‘When will you go?’ Maddie asked.

‘Who knows? I’m afraid I have to sort out my own life first before I can even think of doing anything about this. I’m going to have to find a new job as I can’t possibly work in the same office as Mike now, it would be unbearable. Even if I switch with one of the other girls, I’d still have to see him all the time. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would be?’

‘Yes, not a good thing, that’s for sure. You’d better tell them as soon as possible.’

‘I’ve handed in my notice already. I figured the sooner, the better.’

‘You can always do temp work like me until you find another permanent job. It pays the rent and it’s very flexible.’

‘Yes. It’s a great shame though. I really liked it there, but I’m sure they understand.’

‘Oh, I wish I could go to Devon with you, but I have a really good assignment at the moment and I had to agree to stay for at least a month or they wouldn’t give it to me.’ Maddie sounded wistful. ‘That’s the only problem with temping, you have to take what you can get.’

‘Hey, slow down will you. I’m not even sure I’ll be going to Devon. The Marcombe family might have moved away ages ago. We’re talking over two hundred years here. Or the house might have crumbled and fallen into the sea or whatever. I’ll have to find out.’

‘Well, either way you’ll be going somewhere, and it sounds a lot more exciting than working.’

Kayla smiled. ‘You’re right. I think I’m actually going to enjoy this search.’ She glanced at the portrait of Jago and could have sworn he winked at her. ‘Wretched man,’ she whispered, after she had hung up the phone, but she couldn’t help but smile at him.

It was all surprisingly easy in the end and Kayla almost started to believe in the fate that Jago had talked about in her dream.

Because old Mr Martin, the head of Human Resources, liked her and sympathised with her dilemma, he’d agreed to let her work for two weeks in a different department and then take the rest of the time as unpaid holiday.

‘Of course we’ll miss you,’ he told her kindly, ‘but I can quite see that it would be impossible for you to stay on. I have no doubt you will easily find another position, but I will write you a glowing reference just in case it’s needed.’ Kayla was extremely grateful and almost burst into tears.

She bumped into Mike a few times during the next few days and she could tell he had expected her to apologise for her ‘hasty’ words. Since no such apology was forthcoming, he made a great show of asking one of the other secretaries out to lunch and buying her a bouquet of flowers the next day. Red roses, naturally. Kayla ignored him and a few days later he left some carrier bags on her desk, which contained items of clothing and a few other bits and pieces she had left at his flat. Kayla reciprocated with a bin bag full of his possessions and sent him an internal e-mail to say thank you, but received no reply. And that, it seemed, was that.

‘Isn’t it strange how relationships can be over so abruptly?’ she said to Maddie on the phone that evening. ‘A year is quite a long time, really, and all I have to show for it are three plastic carrier bags of stuff.’

‘Yes, but look on the bright side – at least he didn’t chuck them in the bin. And think of the wisdom you’ve gained,’ Maddie added in a theatrical voice. Kayla giggled. You could always count on Maddie to cheer you up.

‘The only thing I’ve learned is that I should stay the hell away from auctions,’ she retorted and glanced over at Jago, who was doing his
Mona Lisa
impression yet again.

The following Saturday, Kayla made her way to the central Kensington library, near the Town Hall, to search for further information. She lived within walking distance of the huge, Victorian red-brick building, so it was familiar to her. Books were as necessary to her as breathing and she went to the library on a regular basis since her flat was too small for her to buy more than her absolute favourites, but this time she wasn’t looking for reading matter.

She was directed to the second floor, and there in the Reference Library she found what she was looking for – the enormously fat volume of the current issue of
Debrett’s Peerage & Baronetage
. She took it to a reading table and sat down to find the right page. The names were all in alphabetical order, so it didn’t take her long.

‘Bingo!’ she exclaimed without thinking, and was given several dirty looks from other readers. She blushed and shrugged her shoulders in silent apology, then stared at the page in front of her. There it was in black and white:

MARCOMBE (E) 1740, of Marcombe Hall, Marcombe, Devon

Sir Wesley John, 7th Baronet, born 1977, elder son of Sir John Philip, m. 2002 Caroline Marie Campbell, d. of Henry Andrew Campbell, and has issue.

Daughter Living. Eleanor Elizabeth Marie b. 2005

Brother Living. Alexander Philip b. 1980

So there was still a descendant of Sir John living at Marcombe Hall. ‘Excellent,’ Kayla whispered and made a note of this information before returning the book to its shelf.

Next, she had a look in the telephone directory for Devon South East and noted down the phone number listed under ‘Marcombe, W.J.’. There was no mention of his title, but since there were only a few other Marcombes, all with different initials, and the address was Marcombe Hall, she assumed he had to be the right one. Now all she had to do was find the courage to call and ask if he had any paintings by Gainsborough, and if so, whether she could come and have a look at them.

Before she left the library, she borrowed three books about Thomas Gainsborough, just in case there might be any further clues in them. Although she still doubted Jago’s story about the famous artist, it would be best to be properly prepared for any eventuality, she thought.

Her mobile rang as Kayla walked in through the door of her flat and she hurried to answer. ‘Hello?’

‘Kayla, it’s Maddie. I was just wondering if you feel like going out tonight? There’s a group of us going to a really nice pub we’ve just discovered. It’s down by the river.’

‘Thanks, but no thanks. I’m going to spend the evening with Jago.’

‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘No.’ Kayla giggled. ‘I’m perfectly serious.’

‘Is he talking to you again? If he is, I’m coming over straight away. I want to speak to him too. It’s not fair that you should have all the fun.’

‘No, no, you’re not missing out on anything. And he doesn’t talk to me when I’m awake, only in my dreams. I think. I just meant I’m doing some research that has to do with him, so I really don’t have time to go out.’

‘Hmm.’ Maddie didn’t sound convinced. ‘Well, if I really can’t tempt you?’

‘Nope, sorry. I’m not really in the mood anyway after all that’s happened. I’m sure you understand.’

‘Of course. I’m sorry, I should have thought about that. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?’

‘All right. Come over for lunch or something.’

Kayla fixed a quick supper of scrambled eggs on toast, and settled down on the sofa with a glass of wine and one of the Gainsborough biographies. Outside the incessant noise of traffic, sirens and humanity that made up the everyday sounds of London continued as always, but Kayla’s flat was quiet and she was able to concentrate on her reading. She soon became absorbed in the details of Gainsborough’s life and found that he’d been a fascinating man. When she read about some of the things he was alleged to have said, or the somewhat bawdy notes he added to some of his letters, a chuckle escaped her. Time flew by and when she looked up at last, it was past midnight. She drained the last of her wine, which was now lukewarm.

‘Please, won’t you tell me what is so amusing?’

Kayla choked on the drink and the heavy book fell to the floor with a thump. Between coughs she looked up at the enigmatically smiling face of Jago and gave him an angry glare. He wasn’t moving, but she had recognised his voice. It was the voice she heard in her dreams. There was no mistaking it.

‘Damn it, Jago, you could have waited until I had swallowed my wine,’ she grumbled. The coughing fit over at last, she bent to retrieve the book. ‘I think I need to see a doctor, I really do. Or maybe I’ve had too much wine, though I could have sworn it was only the one glass.’