Echoes in the Darkness (10 page)

“She?” I prompted, after a lengthy silence.

Eleanor pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. “My mother. We were naked, on my bed. We were actually making love.” She broke off in distress, the tears spilling over. “He was just about to—you know—and he was telling me how much he loved me, that there would never be anyone else for him. And my mother overheard every word.” Her hands moved to cover her face. “Oh, dear God, Dita! I know how wrong it was, but I love him so much.”

After a minute or two, she collected herself and went on to explain that Lucy, with characteristic briskness, had sent her away to boarding school to remove her from the sphere of influence of her forbidden lover. He really must have been most unsuitable, I thought. Perhaps a married man? Even, possibly, someone of lowly birth? I quashed my burning curiosity. To ask Eleanor his identity at that moment would have been unbearably clumsy.

“What happened to him? I asked.

“He went away, too. He left that very night—the night she caught us together.”

Reflecting on her confidences later, I recalled that Eleanor had said “I love him so much.” Present tense. Which did not bode well for any quest to find a suitable husband for the only daughter of the house of Athal.

* * *

Inspector Miller and his junior colleague appeared decidedly ill at ease in the elegant surroundings of Athal House. Sergeant Ross seemed content to regard me with open-mouthed admiration as we sat making polite small talk. He was recalled to a sense of his surroundings by a pointed cough from his superior, and he blushed apologetically. Lucy poured tea and offered biscuits while Tynan questioned the inspector about the direction of the investigation.

“That’s why we are here, my lord.” The inspector’s voice was mildly apologetic. “It seems the last sighting of Amy Winton was of her walking along the cliff path with a man resembling Mr Charles Jago.”

“But when was this?” Lucy asked in surprise. “Cad has only been home a day or two, and the doctor said it was likely Amy Winton died the night she disappeared. Correct me if I am wrong, but wasn’t that almost two weeks ago?”

“It was, my lady.” The inspector actually appeared to squirm slightly under her gaze. “But Mr Jago is a well-known figure in these parts and several witnesses have said they saw him with her.”

“Then you must, of course, speak to my son,” Tynan said, forestalling any further questions from Lucy.

Cad entered the room, filling it as always with his presence. His eyes travelled briefly across my face, scorching the air between us slightly before he turned to shake hands with the two police officers.

“Good Lord, was that the girl who was killed?” he asked, when the inspector had outlined why he was there. “She was little more than a child.”

“But you weren’t here when she disappeared.” Lucy persisted.

“Yes I was, Mama,” Cad reminded her with unruffled calm. “I came down for one night, if you remember, to settle that nonsensical mill issue and get my father’s signature on the papers.” He turned back to Inspector Miller. “I travelled down by train but I wasn’t expected, so there was no one to meet me. I was lucky because, when I stepped out of the station intending to hire a vehicle to fetch me here, Tom Carter was delivering barrels to the pub over the road. He gave me a lift as far as the village and I walked the rest of the way. The girl—Amy, did you say?—was walking ahead of me along the path. She was struggling because the ribbons on her bonnet had come untied and she was trying to hold it on with one hand. But she was also carrying a basket almost as big as herself. I caught up to her and held the basket while she tried to repair her bonnet. It was a bit of a lost cause because one of the ribbons had come loose. She said it didn’t really matter, she was on her way to visit a relative—her grandmother, I think—so she would pin it there. I gave her back her basket and we went our separate ways.”

Inspector Miller nodded. “That fits with the description out witnesses gave. They said Mr Jago here was carrying a portmanteau. And, of course, Amy Winton’s basket and bonnet were found on the cliff path. Did you see the girl talking to anyone else, sir?”

Cad shook his head. “No. Was she really killed the same day?”

“We think so, sir. Although her body was in such a badly decomposed state it hasn’t been possible to say for sure.”

“Well, I can vouch for the fact that my son did not arrive here in a bloodstained or dishevelled state that day, Inspector,” Lucy said. “Unless, if my word is not sufficient, you would like to check with the servants to verify that?”

“Inspector Miller is simply doing his job,
hweg,
” Tynan told her gently. “Let us not forget that a young girl has been killed in the foulest manner imaginable.”

Lucy inclined her head toward the inspector in acknowledgment of this, and he rose to take his leave. “If you do recall anything further, sir,” he said to Cad, “please let me know.”

“Poor child,” Cad said, shaking his head. “She looked so young and quite helpless. Her bonnet malfunction meant that all the mass of her pretty hair was blowing about her face. I hope you catch the bas—I mean the villain—who did it, Inspector.”

“That is certainly my intention, sir.”

Chapter Seven

She is the one he craves. He follows her through the narrow alleyways. It is daylight and he is courting discovery, but he is powerless to resist. He moves swiftly, catching her arm and drawing her to him, reaching for her neck and her hair, exulting in the quiver that runs through her. She would call it fear, but he knows better. With a swift movement, he slides the tip of his tongue upward to trace the length of her white throat.

“Please, sir,” she whispers, tears of terror choking her words. “Please don’t. I’ve never—” His blade silences her.

Gently, he guides her lifeless form down onto the cobbles. Her throat gapes wide now in a mocking red grin. It is only as he lifts her skirts and prepares to go about his business, that he realises she wears the garb of a lady’s maid. There is a heartbeat’s pause. Hollow nausea settles deep in his gut.

“They are all whores.” The words leave his lips, but the voice belongs to his master. “She is impure, like all the others.”

With a decisive nod, he gets to work. Each slash brings her closer to purity. Tenderly, he releases her from the pain that is womanhood.

* * *

A flurry of activity heralded Eddie’s return. We were just finishing a light lunch when he erupted into the room in his usual tempestuous manner. I rose to greet him, conscious that I had a part to play.

“You look a bit less like shit,” he told me with his mischievous grin. I moved to embrace him, but he held me off. “No, don’t touch me. I shared a train carriage with a relentless pipe smoker, and I stink.”

“Very loverlike,” Cad remarked to no one in particular. Eddie turned swiftly toward him, thunderclouds of anger darkening his face. Cad rose from the table, holding his palms outward to signify peace. They faced each other briefly, and I thought how alike and yet unalike they were. Like a mirror image viewed through slightly tainted glass. Tension hung thick in the air like a fog, before Cad said, “Good to see you again, Ed.” Some of the stiffness left Eddie’s frame and his engaging grin reappeared, dispersing the storm. Cad made a movement, half raising a hand toward his brother, but Eddie made no answering gesture. With a slight, terse nod to his mother, Cad left the room.

“Take your coat off, Eddie, and give Porter your bag,” Lucy said, pouring tea and holding the cup out to him.

Eddie shook his head as Porter scurried forward to take the portmanteau from his grasp. “No, I need to have a bath and change my clothes,” he said, by way of explanation. “Get someone to fetch hot water to my room, will you, Porter?” With his sweetly charming smile that encompassed us all, he followed the stately butler out of the room.

When I saw him later, he looked considerably brighter and appeared refreshed. He caught me up in one of his crushing hugs, and I rested my head against his shoulder gratefully. Other than my memories, he was all I had left of my life in Paris, and even he seemed to be slipping away from me.

“I missed you, Dita,” he murmured against my hair. “I need you close by to keep me sane and make me laugh.” Our friendship was like the ivy that clung to the walls of the old castle, drawing me into its clinging embrace. No sooner had the thought occurred than I dismissed it. Ivy was destructive, wreaking ruin and decay beneath its insidious tendrils. My feelings for Eddie were pure and unambiguous, free from damaging undercurrents. Nevertheless, I felt the weight of my responsibility to him descend once more.

“Can we go somewhere? Spend the rest of the day together, just the two of us?” I asked, lifting my hand to stroke his cheek. He caught hold of it and pressed a kiss into my palm.

“Can’t,” he muttered. His lips twisted. “My father summoned me back here to give an account of my dealings in London. No doubt I will be required to spend most of the day closeted with him and the other son—the clever, dutiful one—listening to their assessment of my competence.” Although he didn’t move, I felt him withdraw from me and I turned my head to see what had attracted his attention. Cad was descending the stairs, having apparently paused on the half landing to straighten his cravat. I wondered how long he had been there, and how much of our conversation he had heard.

In the end, Eddie’s meeting with his father and brother proved to be short and disastrously stormy. Raised voices, with Eddie’s the loudest of all, could be heard emanating from Tynan’s study. This altercation was followed by a loud crash, after which Eddie burst from the room and dashed out of the house without hat or coat. As I grabbed up my cloak ready to follow him, I heard Porter giving instructions to a footman to go and clear up the broken decanter in his lordship’s study.

Eddie dashed along the path toward the cliff’s edge. He was only yards in front of me, but his long strides propelled him along so fast that I could not close the gap. My lungs were still not working to capacity after my bout of flu, so I did not attempt to call out to him. Instead, I tagged dutifully behind him, like a puppy after its master, struggling to hold my cloak in place against the biting cold. When Eddie reached the farthest point of the cliff top, I watched in horror as, without pausing, he leaned down and, with a hand on the grass simply vaulted over the brink. A scream rose to my lips, but it was whipped away by the playful wind. Dashing to the point where he had disappeared, I looked down over the arrowhead-shaped rim of the steep precipice. Eddie, instead of being dashed on the rocks below or engulfed by the swirling waves, was standing on a narrow rocky shelf a few feet below me. Although I was comforted to learn that he had not perished, I was, nevertheless, uneasy to see how precarious his current position was. His feet were mere inches from the edge and he gazed out at the granite ocean with a look of desolate yearning. Not wanting to startle him, I spoke his name quietly.

He didn’t turn his head. “I always think this would be the perfect place from which to write ‘the end’ at the bottom of the page,” he said calmly. “If I stepped out now, Dita, into that perfect, waiting oblivion, would anyone care? Or even notice?”

“I would notice,” I said, striving for an equally tranquil tone. “And I would care, Eddie. Because you are my friend, and I love you.”

“But you don’t know me. Not really. Do people ever truly know each other, Dita? Or is life just one long, cruel masquerade?” He lifted his head to look up at me then, and his face appeared young and lost.

“Can we continue this philosophical conversation somewhere warmer?” I asked through chattering teeth.

He laughed and, clambering easily back up to the top of the cliff, came toward me. I tried to hide my relief. “Christ, Dita, we can’t have you relapsing, can we? Let’s go and see if Mrs Webster can rustle up a couple of mugs of rum punch.”

“What happened, Eddie?” I scanned his face anxiously as we walked back to the house.

“Oh, I listened patiently for a bit while they told me what a mess I was making of things in London. I’m too easily swayed, apparently, not a strong enough character to stamp my authority on affairs. When my father suggested I should spend more time with Cad to get an idea of how he did things, I lost my temper somewhat.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’d forgotten how quick Cad’s reflexes are. I’ll never know how he avoided that decanter, but it missed his head by half a whisker.”

“You could have killed him.” I couldn’t tell him, of course, that the shock in my voice was caused, not by this evidence of his violent temper, but by the thought of a world without Cad.

“I’m not that lucky,” he replied, the black mood lowering again abruptly. “It did make a mess of my father’s study wall, however, for which I daresay I should be sorry. I suppose it’s time to face the music.” We had reached the courtyard of Athal House, and Porter opened the door as we approached. He glanced fearfully at Eddie’s face as we passed. “Fear not, Porter,” Eddie told him jovially. “I’ve decided not to make any more attempts on my brother’s life. Well, not today, anyway.”

I got ready for the evening meal with a sense of dread. But I need not have feared. Eddie appeared to have made his peace with Tynan and was at his most charming. Cad did not put in an appearance at all, having made arrangements, Lucy informed us, to dine with a friend. When I closed my curtains that night before retiring to bed, I could see flickering candlelight in the gatehouse window, and I wondered who the friend was. Perhaps Cad preferred the company of the anonymous corset wearer to the drama of Jago family life. I would not admit, even to myself, how much the thought hurt.

Eddie left for London again early the next day, promising to take me with him once the doctor agreed I could travel. His eagerness to get away was palpable, and I spared a scant minute to examine my own feelings on the matter. I ascribed my overwhelming sense of relief to the fact that Lucy—who I had come to consider a friend—would know a greater sense of tranquillity now that her warring sons were apart.