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When the service ended, Lucy and Tynan paused to chat with the vicar, and Cad was immediately approached by several simpering young ladies. I moved slightly away, not wishing to give the impression that I had any feelings, one way or another, about this circumstance. The day was mild even though an iron-hard frost gripped the ground. Groups of parishioners stood around, ostensibly discussing the service. In reality, most of them seemed to be discussing Amy Winton’s murder and Nellie Smith’s disappearance.
“They say Miller knows full well who did it and, if it wasn’t for the fancy Jago name and his father’s title, he’d be on his way to the gibbet by now.” The man’s voice reached my ears and I stood very still, not wanting to alert the speaker to my presence.
“Well, he was always a wild one when they were growing up,” a woman answered. “Mr Edward was quieter, although he had a temper on him, as well.”
“Rotten through and through, the lot of them,” the first man said briskly. “Oh, his lordship is a fine man, I’ll grant you, and her ladyship, despite her high-and-mighty ways, does plenty of good for the locals. But, between them, their children have made sure the legends are brought back to life. And some of us are of an age to remember Uther Jago, riding around the neighbourhood on that black stallion of his, and we all know what they said about him.”
“No, what did they say?” A different voice piped up.
“That he was Arwen Jago born again. Arwen Jago, mind you, was so evil the devil wouldn’t spit on him if he was aflame, so it was said. Aye, and the pattern laid down by time is clear. Arwen came back as Uther. Now Uther is back among us again. And killing a few young girls to keep ‘em quiet once he’s had his way…well, that’ll just be part of the fun for our fine Mister Cad.”
“Now then, less of that talk, if you please. Ladies present!”
“Where? I don’t see any…”
The group drifted away out of my earshot. I began to walk toward Tynan and Lucy, when another conversation made me pause.
“Who is she?” It was a woman’s voice, and I was aware of a group of smartly dressed, middle-aged women standing nearby. I knew instinctively that I was the subject of their conversation.
“Well, they say she is to marry Mr Edward. Which sounds better, I suppose, than the truth.” This statement was followed by a slight sniff.
“Rolled up with her, he did, bold as brass and told her ladyship they were to be wed. My daughter’s friend has a niece in service up at the house and she said her ladyship was most put out being as how this fancy bit he had on his arm was well-known in Paris, by all accounts, for being a you-know-what.” I could not see the speaker, but I could picture her lemon-sour expression.
“No! You mean she—for money? Well, I never! And her turned out so fancy and her face so pretty. Although, I did think she looked mighty cosy with Mr Cad Jago this morning, mind. Perhaps when Mr Eddie gets fed up he might pass her along? Keep it in the family…” A chorus of shocked titters followed this remark.
Enough. Blindly, my feet found the path and I hurried along it. Tears burned the back of my eyelids and I angrily blinked them away. I had heard worse, so why was I letting it affect me so much this time? My mind turned to my Cornish mother and the anguish she would have suffered if she had heard those words spoken about me by her countrywomen. And, as if making an automatic connection, I thought of Lucy and her kindness to me. I would not, for all the world, want to cause her to feel a similar shame.
“Dita!” Cad called out to me, but I hurried on, keeping my head bent. When he drew level with me, he caught my arm, halting my brisk stride and swinging me round to face him. His eyes scanned my face and, to my annoyance, I felt a single tear slide down my cheek. “I heard what they said.”
“It isn’t true.” Suddenly it mattered that he, of all people, should know that. “I have never—I wouldn’t—”
“Christ, Dita, I know that.” We were out of sight of the church, having rounded the curve of the bay. He drew me into his arms and, gradually, the trembling in my limbs subsided. “Those evil old cats have nothing better to do all day than gossip. And the Jagos are a source of endless fascination for their razor tongues. If they can’t find something to talk about, they’ll make it up. You should hear some of the activities they ascribe to me. Mind you,” he said, slipping a finger under my chin so that I was forced to look up at him. “Most of those are true. Besides, nobody knows better than I do that, if you did charge for your favours, you’d be the richest woman in England. No, don’t try and look prim, it doesn’t suit you.” I relented and gave a watery chuckle. “That’s better. Come on, we’ve done our duty. Let’s go home.” With a pang of sadness, I realised that it did not feel strange anymore for me to call Athal House my home, too.
