Jamintha (20 page)

“No?”

“I intend to see to that.”

“And you? Will you be calling on me?”

“I'll be here Monday afternoon. Make sure you're in.”

I climbed out and opened the gate. Charles Danver clicked the reins and drove away. Brence has served his purpose. He has led me to his father. My scheme has unfolded exactly as I planned, and we are closer than ever to discovering the secrets of Danver Hall. I'm looking forward to matching wits with Charles Danver. He's dangerous, but I'm not worried about that. He's male, and the male is an extremely vulnerable animal. Charles Danver is no exception.

This letter is inordinately long, but I didn't want to leave out any of the details. I want you to know exactly what is going on. I'll write again when time permits. Take care of yourself, Jane, and don't worry about anything. I have a feeling that all secrets are going to be disclosed before too much more time has passed.

Jamintha

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Monday was a dismal day with watery gray sky, heavy clouds drifting across it and casting moving shadows over the ground. As I walked over the moors, in harmony with the day, I was not surprised to meet Gavin Clark. He wore a shabby black suit and a heavy black cloak that rose and fluttered in the wind like dark wings. His brown eyes were warm and compassionate as he came toward me and gripped both my hands in his, telling how pleased he was to see me again. I smiled, as pleased as he, and we strolled over the harsh landscape, at ease with each other, undeterred by the savage wind or the menacing threat of rain.

I took him to my secret place. It was less windy there. We sat on the mossy green bank and watched the waterfall splash into the pool in silvery sprays. I thought about Jamintha's letter which I had read upon awakening. I wondered where she was now, what she was doing. I thought about Brence, too. Gavin Clark reached for my hand and squeezed it tightly. It seemed natural and right. I looked at that handsome, mellow face with its weary lines and those marvelous brown eyes.

“You look pensive,” he said.

“Perhaps it's this place. It's so beautiful, and—I used to come here when I was a child. I can't remember, but I can feel something, an old response stirring.”

He let go of my hand and drew his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. It was a boyish position, and with the disheveled red locks spilling over his forehead he looked younger, the permature silver at his temples only heightening the effect. I realized that he was only two or three years older than Brence, yet Gavin Clark had a maturity and depth of character that Brence would never attain.

“Describe that response to me,” he said.

I told him about the impressions I had felt when I first came back to this place, the little girl I had seen through the veil. I also described the sensations I had had in the library and the dusty, deserted ballroom and those emotions I experienced in the abandoned sitting room with ivory walls and the dingy yellow velvet sofa. His head tilted to one side, a thoughtful expression on his face, he listened, and it seemed right to be telling him these things. I told him about the stiff cracked canvas I had found depicting the lovely blonde woman in her low cut pink dress and the glittering web of diamonds.

“I'm certain that woman was my mother,” I said. “I—sometimes can almost see her, but the veils are there, concealing details in my mind. I—I know I was a happy child.”

“You weren't happy at school, were you?”

“No. I was miserable. I hated it. Life was brown and gray, like the walls, like the food.”

“And you were ill a large part of the time.”

“I had dreadful headaches—and nightmares.”

Gavin Clark looked at the pool, his lightly tanned face held in profile. I hardly knew this man, yet I felt close to him, warm and secure in his presence.

“They—the doctors said I wasn't really ill. They said I was faking it—like the blind boy. But I
was
sick. Sometimes I was so weak I could hardly move, and the headaches—”

“Your friend was there, wasn't she?”

“Jamintha? Yes. I—I couldn't have endured it without her. She was the only one who understood.”

“And now she's come to Danmoor?”

I nodded. I couldn't discuss that, and Gavin Clark didn't press me with further questions. Thunder continued to rumble in the distance, and a jagged streak of lightning flashed across the sky, skeletal silver fingers ripping at the dark gray expanse. Gavin stood up, his cloak flapping, and he took my hand and helped me to my feet. We left the place and moved briskly through the valley of boulders. The rain began to fall as we started up the slope. He removed the cloak without a word and wrapped it around me. We hurried toward the distant line of trees, rain splattering all around, the brown earth soaking up the water, turning to mud. As we moved into the gardens, I stumbled. Gavin Clark caught me in his arms and supported me. His face spread in an amused smile, and I smiled, too, heedless of the rain falling so furiously.

“I've got a fire going in the study,” he said. “I could brew a pot of tea—”

“Yes. I—I'd like that.”

We dashed toward Dower House, his hand holding mine tightly. Both of us were laughing as we rushed inside. Gavin closed the heavy oak door and led me into the study, unwinding the cloak from my shoulders and draping it over a chair near the roaring fire. The cloak had kept me relatively dry, although my face and hair were wet. Taking me firmly by the shoulders, Gavin positioned me in front of the fire, hurried out of the room and returned a moment later with a fluffy white towel.

“You dry off. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

I dried my face and hands and rubbed the towel over my hair, the tight braids still intact. Putting the towel aside, I spread my skirts out and held them in front of the crackling orange-blue flames. Protected by the heavy folds of the cloak, my dress was only slightly damp, a few dark spots around the hem. These dried quickly, the smell of steam blending with the smell of smoke. Satisfied, I turned to examine the room.

The room, like the man, was full of warmth, comfortable, unassuming. The old burnt orange velvet sofa was shabby, its cushions lumpy. The battered, ink-stained mahogany desk was littered with books and papers. Books were stacked untidily on the floor as there were far too many of them to fit into the already crowded cases that dominated one side of the room. The wallpaper was dull tan, patterned with ugly brown and gold sunflowers, and the long draperies that framed the windows were of ancient brown velvet, held back with tarnished gold cord. There was a brown leather chair, a low table with pipe rack and dark orange earthenware canister. Dried goldenrod filled a large black and beige Chinese vase in one corner. Friendly and snug, the room was made even cozier by the rain that pelted on the roof and blew in splattering gusts against the windows.

Bearing a tray with a squat blue tea pot and matching cups, Gavin came back a few minutes later. He had changed into old brown trousers and a once elegant maroon velvet smoking jacket with quilted black satin lapels, the garment now deplorably shabby. Hair still damp, he set the tray down and smiled at me. I was suddenly aware of the compromising situation I was in. I hadn't thought twice about his invitation. I had come because I wanted to, yet I now realized that my being here was highly unconventional. My guardian would be livid if he knew.

Gavin seemed to read my thoughts. “I'll not seduce you, lass,” he said in a teasing voice.

“Of—of course you won't.”

“You don't sound terribly convinced. Relax, Jane. You look nervous as a cat in a kennel.”

“I shouldn't have come. It was an impulsive thing to do.”

He poured tea into the cups. “Sugar? … No? I've no cream to offer, no lemon either, I'm afraid. Why? Why shouldn't you have come?”

“This isn't—altogether proper, Doctor Clark.”

“Please call me Gavin. We're friends. You're very proper, aren't you, Jane?”

“I suppose I am.”

“Unlike Jamintha,” he remarked.

“How—how do you know?”

“I guessed. Conventions are grand. I'm all for them, as long as they're not carried to preposterous extremes. There's something wrong with a society that believes a man and a woman can't be alone together without immediately leaping into bed. Sorry. Did I shock you? You blush most becomingly.”

“Thank you,” I said feebly.

“With your cheeks pink like that you're pretty enough to seduce, I assure you. Incidentally, why do you wear your hair in such a severe style? I should think you'd let it fall in natural waves.”

“I—I've always worn it this way.”

“Here, take your tea. Curl up on that sofa. The fire's nice, isn't it? Glorious smell, smoke. There. Are you comfortable? Do you realize you're my first guest at Dower House? I feel honored.”

Gavin Clark sat down in the cracked brown leather chair, making small trivial remarks to lull me into a sense of ease. My nervousness vanished after a few minutes and we were close again, friends, completely at ease as we had been on the moors. Gavin talked about the book he was writing, describing the tremendous amount of preliminary work that had already gone into it. He was a marvelous talker, his smooth voice rich and expressive. Gradually, the conversation shifted to Danmoor and Danver Hall, and I found myself telling him about the things that had happened to me since I arrived, carefully eliminating any mention of Brence or Jamintha.

He was extremely curious about my “accident,” his expression grave as he questioned me.

“You think someone was in the ruins?”

“I—I can't be sure. I know I wasn't sleepwalking, although—although there
was
a nightmare quality about it, the moonlight, the shadows, the wind. Maybe I imagined that dark form—”

“You believe someone struck you with a rock?”

“I—no, of course not. I
must
have fallen.”

Gavin got up and stepped behind the sofa, reaching down to place his hand over my temple where the bruise had been. His fingers were strong and gentle as they probed. He narrowed his eyes and frowned slightly, moving over to stand in front of the fireplace. He rested his elbow on the mantle, a preoccupied look in his eyes. Several long minutes passed.

“You still feel weak?” he inquired.

“Not—not as much as I did at first. In the evening, before I go to bed—I always seem to be weary then. I sleep every afternoon. I
shouldn't
wake up feeling tired, should I?”

“It's not so unusual,” he said evasively. “You have headaches then, too, don't you?”

I nodded, toying with the empty blue teacup.

“Do you dream frequently, Jane?”

“Most of the time,” I said uneasily. “Is that bad?”

Gavin smiled reassuringly and thrust his hands into the pockets of the shabby maroon smoking jacket, his back to the fire, his legs spread apart. “I dream most of the time myself.” He added humorously, “and some of them are dillies. You see, our subconscious takes over when we're asleep.”

“Our—subconscious?”

“The thoughts we don't consciously think, they form our subconscious. Sub—below the surface. Visualize the mind as a pond. The things that occupy us normally are like the goldfish you see swimming near the top, but down below there are other fish, to employ the same metaphor, and they remain out of sight, hidden in the depths. Sometimes, when we're asleep, they surface—things we've willingly forgotten, things we'd rather not examine too closely.”

“I—think I understand.”

He shrugged his shoulders, another smile playing on his lips. “Forgive me for sounding professional. Tell me about your friend. When did she first arrive?”

“After the accident. I seem to have written her a letter during—during that week I can't recall. I wrote a note to Susie's boy friend, too, thanking him for flowers he'd sent, although I don't remember writing that either. That week is a total blank.”

“Not an unusual phenomenon,” he said. “It frequently happens after a concussion. And you
did
have a concussion, however slight. So you wrote to Jamintha. I assume she was still at the school.”

“Yes—”

I wondered why he was so curious about her. He'd mentioned her three times already this morning. In a village as small as Danmoor, gossip took the place of a daily newspaper, and if he'd gone into the village for anything he was bound to have heard of her and her “affair” with Brence. Perhaps he had even seen her. No doubt his interest was the normal interest of the male intrigued by a beautiful woman.

“She sounds like a fascinating creature,” he remarked.

“She is. She's everything I'm not: beautiful, gay, lighthearted. She's strong, and wise. She's not afraid of anything—” I broke off, frowning. I hadn't meant to talk about any of these things with him. The words seemed to have come to my lips unbidden.

I stood up, brushing my skirt. “I—I must go now. It's almost eleven. Thank you for the tea, Doctor Cl—Gavin.”

“The pleasure has been all mine,” he said, escorting me to the front door. “I hope to see you again, Jane. Tomorrow, perhaps. Perhaps we'll meet on the moors again.”

I did see him the next morning, and the next. With Gavin Clark I was a different person, not so stiff, not so thorny. He seemed to bring out qualities in me I had never known were there. I was almost natural, almost warm and friendly, responding to him as I had never responded to anyone else. We had long talks as we strolled over the land, and the talks always made me feel better. He told me about his life, his work, his ambitions, yet somehow the conversation always seemed to work around to me. He made me feel … worthy, and interesting. With Gavin I forgot that I was plain and dull.

When I returned to the house Wednesday at noon, I was unusually weary, my bones aching. Every step I took required an effort. I had lunch on a tray in my room, and Susie sat with me, alarmed by my pallor and the deep smudges of fatigue under my eyes. She hemmed and hawed and clucked, insisting I eat every bite, and lectured me severely, her bossy, scolding manner revealing a genuine concern that I found touching. I told her I intended to stay in bed for the rest of the day and would not want to be disturbed at dinner time. Rest and sleep were more important than food, and she was not to bring a tray unless I rang for her. After making sure that I was snugly tucked in bed, she left.