The Secret Kiss of Darkness (23 page)

Reluctantly he placed his hand on hers, palm up. He’d never hesitated before, but this time, for some reason, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what she had to say. Her pronouncements weren’t always clear, but sooner or later they made sense and she was never wrong. That in itself was terrifying.

She was quiet for a while, then muttered something to herself before piercing him with her dark gaze. ‘You have to be careful for a while, very careful, my boy.’

Wes pulled his hand back when she let go and drew in a shaky breath. He hadn’t realised he’d been holding it. ‘In what way?’

‘In every way except one – love. Give that freely and you’ll be happy.’

‘Give it freely? I already do. I mean, I never stint when it comes to Nell. I try to show her how much she’s loved in every way.’

Katerina shook her head. ‘Not just the child. There are others who need your love too. And you’re holding back.’

‘Others, as in more than one?’ Wes felt confused. If she’d said something along the lines of ‘a petite, gorgeous blonde is waiting for you to make a move’, he’d have understood. ‘Not just a woman?’

The old lady cackled. ‘No, not just that. Why, did you have someone in mind? Only I got the impression you weren’t ready to settle down with anyone yet. Mind you, there was this lovely young woman who came to see me earlier and I told her a tall, dark and handsome man was in her future. Could be you, maybe? It was what she wanted to hear. They all do.’

‘Now you’re teasing me. You know I don’t want to be trapped again. I told you all about it last time you came.’

Katerina wagged a finger at him. ‘Ah, but there are ways of being trapped that don’t feel so restrictive. Bonds you’d gladly be ensnared in. Allow yourself to experience this and all will be well.’

Wes smiled. ‘Enough with the mumbo-jumbo, this is me you’re talking to. I know you can see things, but there’s no need for you to be so mysterious. If you’re saying I should try falling in love, been there done that. It’s highly over-rated.’

‘I was being serious, but as always, it’s up to you to decide if you want to listen. After all, I’m just an old woman, what do I know?’ Katerina’s smile was back to teasing, but Wes refused to play games.

‘Don’t give me that, you’re a mere spring chicken. But if it makes you happy, I’ll think about what you said, okay?’

‘You do that and we’ll see who’s right, eh?’

We will indeed
, Wes thought, but the gleam in Katerina’s eyes made him wonder even so.

‘Finally!’ Kayla exclaimed when she came down to the entrance hall two days later to find that the postman had brought her a thick brown envelope from London. Despite several phone calls to Maddie, she’d been unable to make her friend reveal any further information.

‘It’s revenge for leaving me behind while you’re enjoying the good life at the manor house with his lordship,’ Maddie had said and laughed.

‘I am not doing anything with his lordship. If only!’ Kayla hissed back, afraid of being overheard, but Maddie had hung up, still laughing. ‘Annoying woman.’

Now she ran up the stairs two at a time and along the corridor to her room. Impatiently she tore open the envelope. Several large sheets of paper spilled onto her bed and she picked up the first one and began to read.

‘A Calendar of the Prisoners in the County Gaol of Exeter for Trial at the Exeter Sessions, April 15, 1782 …’

Kayla scanned the list and there he was,
‘Kerswell, Jago, age 28’
. On the bottom of the next page it said:

‘FELONY… Jago Kerswell. Brought in March 25, 1782, and committed by Thomas Paige, Esq, charged with having caused the death of Sir John Marcombe, Bt, late of Marcombe Hall …’

Kayla began to read the Assize records
and lost herself in the past.

Jago stood impassive, gazing round the courtroom from time to time, but mostly staring straight ahead lost in thought. Although he knew the charges against him were serious, he honestly didn’t care what the outcome of the trial would be. Without Eliza, life wasn’t worth living in any case, and he knew he’d as good as committed murder, however justified. If he was sentenced to hang, so be it.

‘Jago Kerswell, you are accused of the murder of Sir John Marcombe of Marcombe Hall. How do you plead?’

‘Not guilty.’ Jago said the words automatically. Whether they were true or not, he reasoned there wouldn’t be any point in having a trial if he said he was guilty. Let the man at least work for his verdict.

‘Very well, let’s proceed.’

He heard the judge say Jago had been brought to the Assizes because of the suspicions of the local magistrate. Sir John’s body had been found on the beach and his valet, Thomas Binks, had run to the magistrate claiming his master had been pushed off the cliffs on the night of the twenty-fourth of March.

‘And why would you suppose the defendant was the man who pushed your master, Mr Binks?’ the judge asked.

‘Well, there were these rumours goin’ round, sir.’

‘Rumours? About what?’

‘Mr Kerswell bein’ related to his lordship, on the wrong side o’ the blanket, as it were, and them not gettin’ on well.’

‘I’ve already been told that this is true. That doesn’t make Mr Kerswell a murderer. Was there a falling out between them? Did you actually see anything happen, Mr Binks?’ The judge looked irritated.

‘Well, no, sir,’ the valet stammered, ‘but why else would Sir John end up at the bottom of the cliff? He’d just become a father, to a son and heir no less. It don’t make sense for a man like that to jump, now does it?’

‘We’re not dealing in suppositions here,’ the judge told Mr Binks with a stern look. ‘Only facts. Next witness, please.’

To Jago’s surprise several people stepped forward, one after the other in quick succession, giving testimony in his favour. He listened with increasing amazement as they perjured themselves on his behalf, all sounding truthful and convincing. He hadn’t realised he had so many allies and it went some way towards thawing his frozen insides. Many of them relied on him to lead the smuggling operations, to be sure, but quite a few seemed to be helping him simply because they held him in high regard. It wasn’t something he’d expected.

Jeremiah Dunsmore, the village blacksmith, was one of them, looking like an upstanding member of society in his Sunday best. ‘Aye, sir, I swear on oath the defendant was at his inn, the King’s Head, within full sight of everyone the whole of the evening in question. I was there myself, sir, drinking cider, but not so much that I can’t remember what was what. Only had the one pint, I did.’

Keziah Jones, the local whore, spoke up with a glint in her eye when it was her turn. ‘I spent the rest o’ the night wi’ Ja- … er, Mr Kerswell, and ’e didn’t leave my bed once. Now why would ’e? I wouldn’t be doin’ me job if ’e had.’ Stifled laughter greeted this sally, making the proceedings seem less sombre for a while.

Harriet White, Eliza’s maidservant, stepped forward, sobbing intermittently and clutching a handkerchief. ‘It was so sad, your honour, an absolute t-tragedy. My mistress died in childbirth that night, and her so happy about her little boy. It-it’s my honest belief her husband took his own life in sorrow. Who wouldn’t? Adored her, he did. She was everything to him. Everything.’ That was news to Jago, and probably most of the villagers, but the judge had no way of knowing this. He nodded and thanked Miss White.

Finally it was the turn of the local doctor, William Ward-Matthews, looking grave but composed and speaking in a sonorous voice. ‘Yes, your honour, I attest to Lady Marcombe’s death. I was called to the Hall in the morning, only to find that her ladyship must have died during the night. The body was already cold by the time I examined her. It’s my considered opinion she’d died from loss of blood as a result of childbirth. Tragic, but all too common, I’m afraid.’

All these testimonials left the judge and jury with no option but to set Jago free because of lack of evidence. As he pronounced the verdict the judge glanced at Jago, a speculative look in his eyes, then nodded as if he was satisfied that justice had been done.

Jago nodded back, then walked out into the sunshine a free man.

When she’d finished reading, Kayla sighed with relief, her heart thumping loudly. Jago had been acquitted.
Thank God!
But she couldn’t help the doubts from creeping into her mind. Had Jago somehow engineered Sir John’s death so he could have Eliza all to himself? Was that why he couldn’t rest now? She didn’t want to believe it of him.

And if Eliza had died in childbirth, then what would have been the point? It didn’t make sense. She needed to talk to Jago and until she had a chance to do that, she’d have to be patient.

After coming to this decision, Kayla picked up the next sheet of paper Jessie had sent. It was Sir John’s will, dated March 24th 1782, which for some reason had been proved in London rather than Exeter.

‘This is the Last Will and Testament of me Sir John Marcombe of Marcombe Hall in the County of Devon, Baronet, being of sound mind and body. First I will and direct that all my just debts and funeral expenses be paid. I give and bequeath to my Dear Son, Wesley John Marcombe, all my worldly goods and possessions.

I hereby make and appoint my sister-in-law Miss Sophie Wesley and my half-brother Jago Kerswell, innkeeper of the King’s Head Inn at Marcombe, Guardians of my Son, until he shall attain the age of twenty-one, and I hereby make and appoint the aforesaid Sophie Wesley and Jago Kerswell Executors of this my Last Will and Testament.

In witness whereof I have hereunto set my hand and seal this Twenty-fourth day of March One Thousand Seven Hundred and Eighty Two.

Signed in the presence of …

There followed several names which Kayla could barely decipher, some of which had a cross next to them indicating the man in question had been illiterate and couldn’t write his own name. She dropped the piece of paper onto the bed and stared out of the window for a moment, lost in thought. This didn’t ring true. Why would Sir John appoint Jago the guardian of his son and call him half-brother in his will if he had never previously acknowledged the connection? Kayla was convinced now that Jago had engineered it all somehow and it was yet another thing she intended to ask him next time she saw him.

She sighed. At least he’d been able to see his son, even if he could never acknowledge him openly. Kayla shook her head and couldn’t help but smile a little. ‘Jago, you rogue,’ she muttered.
Honestly the nerve of the man!
To force Sir John to make him guardian of little Wesley, it was the outside of enough. The man must have been livid. She chuckled at the thought.

‘Oh, Jago,’ she whispered. ‘I wish I’d known you back then.’

Kayla spent the next few days calling all Sir John’s living descendants whenever she was alone in the office. It was her last hope. She had to make sure the painting hadn’t passed to one of them unofficially by way of a gift, which was possible. Wes had several meetings in London, which was a relief to her since she didn’t want him to find out her real reason for coming to Marcombe.

After ten such phone calls, however, Kayla slumped over her desk defeated. Not a single one of the people she’d contacted had ever heard of a painting of their ancestress, and almost to a man they referred her to Wes. She felt extremely guilty when several of them kindly offered to contact Wes on her behalf and she had to decline. It wasn’t in her nature to tell even white lies and she found the whole process very difficult.

In order to cheer herself up she rang Maddie for a good moan and told her all about her unsuccessful quest.

‘… so you see, no one has the painting. It must have been destroyed long ago. Oh, how am I going to tell Jago? He’ll be so disappointed.’

‘Don’t give up yet, it might just have been sold. There’s no reason why anyone should destroy a Gainsborough for goodness sake.’

‘I suppose not, but how am I ever going to find out?’

‘Hmm. Well, maybe you’ll have to hire an art expert or something. They might know what to do.’

It was the only suggestion they could come up with and they agreed Kayla would come up to London the following weekend to try and find someone who could help her. She hung up feeling depressed and more or less defeated.

‘Why does everything have to be so difficult?’ she muttered.

‘So you’ve not found her yet?’ Jago’s voice, echoing her own despondency, didn’t make Kayla feel any better.

She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Jago. Our last chance is this art expert I spoke to today at Sotheby’s. He’s agreed to do some research for me. At huge expense, I might add.’

‘I really appreciate your efforts, you know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Jago, I know. Let’s talk about something else for while.’ She chuckled suddenly, as she remembered all he had to answer for. ‘Such as your misdeeds perhaps?’

She could almost hear the piratical grin in his voice. ‘To which of my many heinous crimes might you be referring?’

Kayla began to tick them off on her hand. ‘Well, shall we start with murder? Smuggling? Or perhaps blackmailing?’

‘I have no idea what you mean.’ He lifted his chin, looking very haughty, but Kayla knew it was an act.

‘Oh, come on.’ She gave him a severe look and tapped her foot impatiently. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday and I’ll have you know I’ve read an account of your trial, as well as a copy of Sir John’s will. I refuse to believe that man wrote a single word of it without, shall we say, some slight coercion?’

‘Oh, very well, I’ll start from the beginning shall I?’ Jago gave her a lopsided grin that had her shaking her head at him.

‘Good idea. I can’t wait to hear this. Bet it’ll be a good story.’

She wasn’t disappointed.

‘So, your little girlfriend’s left you, has she? Is it permanent? Maybe she couldn’t stand to live in such a boring place either.’

Wes was standing on the drive, ostensibly watching Nell as she skipped her way round the oval bit of gravel outside the front of Marcombe Hall. In reality, his thoughts had kept straying to Kayla, wondering how soon she’d be back and why it should matter so much. He hadn’t heard Caro coming round the back of the house.

‘Where did you spring from?’ he asked, frowning at her.

‘Been for a walk. Just passing by.’

Yeah, right
. Caro didn’t do country walking, as he knew well enough. ‘I mean, where are you staying? I didn’t know you were still in the neighbourhood.’

‘Nearby.’ She smirked. ‘Annie told me you’d given
my
room to the ditzy blonde, so I didn’t have much choice.’

‘She’s not ditzy,’ Wes started to say, then realised he didn’t want to be drawn into an argument about Kayla. ‘And the guest rooms are all decorated now so you’re welcome any time.’

‘You’ll move your girlfriend out of the adjoining room for me? How sweet of you.’

‘That’s not what I mean at all and you know it. I could ask Kayla to move, but I don’t see why it matters where you sleep. And she’s not my girlfriend.’

‘I see. Lover then, if that’s what you prefer. Or friend with benefits? I hear you’ve sworn off serious relationships.’ She laughed. ‘Nice to know I had such influence on your life.’

Wes clenched his jaw and tried to breathe slowly so as not to rise to her bait. She was an expert at needling him and he wasn’t surprised by the fact that he wanted to refute her allegation. What she’d said suddenly made him think though – was he really going to let his experiences with this infuriating woman dictate what he did for the rest of his life? Just because he’d fallen in love with the wrong person, was he right to shun relationships forever?

That would mean she’d won.

This epiphany hit him right between the eyes and he almost reeled. He turned to look at Caro, really look at her. He saw a beautiful woman, but an embittered, dissatisfied, mentally unstable one who would never be happy unless she was the centre of attention. His love, his wealth, his title, none of it had been enough once she had to share it with their child. And that wasn’t his fault. He’d tried his best, done everything in his power, and failed, but only because it wasn’t in Caro’s nature to compromise. Not all women were like that. Kayla wasn’t like that. So why should he judge them all by Caro’s standards?

Relief flooded through him and he felt as if a weight had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. He beamed at her and said, ‘Thanks, Caro. You’ve no idea how helpful you’ve just been.’

‘What?’ The smug expression faded and was replaced with one of confusion. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Nothing important. Now did you want to spend some time with Nell or did you just come to annoy me? I’m sure our daughter would love some quality time with you. How are you at skipping rope?’

‘I … skipping? I don’t do skipping.’

‘Ah, no, I forgot, it will probably ruin your manicure, right? Or your hairdo.’ Wes laughed. ‘But you know what? My friend-with-benefits-I-haven’t-yet-sampled is great at skipping, so you might want to practise a bit. You wouldn’t want to be outdone, would you?’ He beckoned to his daughter. ‘Hey, Nell, come over here and lend Mummy your skipping rope. And give her a few pointers while you’re at it.’ He turned back to Caro, who was staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. ‘I’ll be in my office. Call me when you’re done.’