Echoes in the Darkness (16 page)

I shrugged. “Because he is evil. Because he can. Because he wants to warn me, show me what he can do. Because—oh, with Sandor, who knows? I have heard terrible stories of him killing men for sport. He would not flinch at this.”

He was silent, staring out the window for a long time. “Karol wasn’t here when those girls were murdered,” he said.

“Not openly,” I agreed. “But if it was intended to be a warning to me, he knew I would make the connection to him eventually. He may even have ordered someone to come down to Cornwall to do it.”

“You think his men would murder young girls at his command?” he enquired. “And in such an appalling manner? Is he really capable of something so foul?”

“He is capable of anything.” I bit my lip, picturing him with his arm about Eleanor’s waist. “And because of me, he came here and met your family.” I could never sufficiently regret that fact.

“My house and family have survived worse than Karol,” he said. I knew he was thinking of Arwen Jago and, more recently, his own uncle, Uther. “I still don’t see why you are so convinced that the murders have something to do with you.”

“Perhaps I would not have thought it, except that when I lived in Paris, six girls were murdered there,” I said. His brows drew together. “I don’t know the details, so I can’t say for sure if there
was
a connection. I may be allowing my imagination to run riot without reason.”

“I will make some enquiries about Paris,” he said. “And Karol will be gone from Tenebris before Christmas.”

“Yes,” I said doubtfully. I knew Sandor was determined to take me away with him. If I didn’t go willingly, he would take me by force. Having found me at last, he would not give up easily. Although I tried to prepare for any eventuality, I also knew how devious he could be.

* * *

Eleanor’s school friend, Victoria Cadwallader, arrived amid a flurry of activity and girlish giggling. She was planning to stay for three nights on her way to visit the family of her betrothed in Truro for Christmas. Her forthcoming wedding, to an up-and-coming solicitor with political aspirations, was the subject of extensive discussion between the two friends. Vicky, as she liked to be known, eyed me with wide-eyed admiration and seemed inclined to be intimidated by me. She was also reduced to girlish blushes and perpetual eyelash fluttering by the presence of the handsome Jago brothers and Sandor’s boyish charm.

It was the second day of Vicky’s visit, and the air was throat-cuttingly icy. Day and night had ceased to exist, and the world was a constant twilight of looming snow. Light faded to dank nothingness and the moon forgot to hide her face from daytime. Glistening, blue-tinged fog hung so low that the trees had no tops. The wind slapped our faces and bit the tips of our fingers and toes. We had bravely—or perhaps foolishly—escaped the confines of the house while the weather still allowed.

Porter informed me, in accents of deep gloom, that a snow moon was on the wax. When I asked what that meant, he had sighed heavily. “Cut off from the world, miss. That’s what we’ll be. One year it was nigh on three months before the drifts cleared.”

“At school, we were so close and alike that some of the teachers thought we were sisters,” Eleanor informed me as the three of us strolled along the cliff top toward the village path. They linked my arms one on each side, with a natural, easy assumption that reminded me poignantly that I had never known the camaraderie of female friendship.

“You do look quite similar,” I agreed. It was true in the sense that they were both small, fair and slender. But Eleanor was strikingly pretty while Vicky was, I thought, quite plain, with a long narrow nose and teeth that were too prominent for her thin lips.

“You never told me how
very
good-looking your brothers are,” Vicky said with a titter.

“Are engaged ladies supposed to notice such things?” Eleanor asked.

“Oh, marriage has nothing whatsoever to do with
fun!
” Vicky declared, in the tones of a would-be sophisticate. “The most fashionable ladies all take lovers, you know. I do pity you, Eleanor dear, because single girls do not have the same freedom. We all know how fatal it would be to ruin your reputation before you have found yourself a husband.” I saw the deep flush that tinged Eleanor’s cheeks, but Vicky continued unabashed. “Of course, your older brother has already been claimed by Miss Varga here.” She nipped my arm playfully. “So perhaps I should turn my attentions to your other brother. I must say, Mr Cad Jago does have the most
devilish
air about him! I have always wondered what it would be like to be seduced by a rake.” She gave a theatrical shudder. “And then there is Baron Karol, who seems most gentlemanly and charming, for a foreigner. Really, Eleanor, I had no idea that this visit would prove to be so interesting!”

Deciding I preferred my own company to any further speculation about Cad’s sexual prowess, I left them to continue their walk into the village and took the perpendicular path toward the inland clearing known as Lucia’s Glade. The bare woods rang out the death knell of the year and freezing rain started to patter against the hood of my cloak. A biting wind tugged at my skirts and stung my face. My hands were numb inside my kid leather gloves, and I wriggled my toes within the snug depths of my boots. An icy blast, harsh enough to make me stagger, threw me off balance, and my feet skittered wildly on the frosty leaves that lined the path. My arms windmilled, and I tottered wildly for a moment until a pair of strong hands caught me about the waist from behind and held me upright. With a flutter of alarm, I thought of Amy Winton, Nellie Smith and those nameless girls in Paris. Why had I been so stupid as to wander off alone?

The hood of my cloak fell back and a familiar scent—that of expensive cologne and a warm masculine body—made my nostrils twitch appreciatively. But just because I knew who my assailant was, I reasoned, did not mean he wasn’t dangerous. Cad was a suspect, perhaps the prime suspect, in the murders. Under the circumstances, surely I should demonstrate a little natural wariness? Instead, I succumbed to a very different instinct. Leaning back against him, I luxuriated in his strong warmth and the way his arms immediately folded tightly about me.

“What are you doing here,
bouche?
” he asked. “Don’t you know what has been going on lately? It is too dangerous for you to be out alone.”

“Am I in danger now?” I asked, a little breathlessly.

“From me?” His lips just brushed my ear and his hands moved up from my waist to rest just below my breasts. A quiver of pleasure and anticipation ran up my spine. “Always,
bouche,
always.”

I turned in his embrace, and the impish light that danced in the amber depths of his eyes instantly drove the laughter from my lips. My heartbeat slowed to a dull thud and the inclination that made my teeth chatter had nothing to do with the icy air. A slow, dangerous smile curved Cad’s perfectly carved lips, and he began to draw me inexorably closer. I was powerless to resist, but I still could not quite distinguish which of my churning emotions was uppermost. Like a moth drawn to a flame, excitement and fear went to war in my breast. The outcome was still undecided as he bent his head toward me, and my eyelids automatically closed.

“Mr Jago! Sir!” Cad released me and turned toward the young footman who came running full tilt from the direction of the house. “They’ve found her. They’ve found Nellie Smith!”

* * *

Her body might have been discovered sooner if bad weather had not kept the fishing boats in the harbour. Cruelly flung down on the rocks in a tiny cove just along the bay from Port Isaac, Nellie Smith would have been clearly visible to anyone sailing out in a northerly direction. Her throat had been cut before she was stabbed in a murderous fury reminiscent of that unleashed on Amy Winton and the still-unnamed Wadebridge prostitute. Inspector Miller, in his lugubrious manner, stated that which was glaringly obvious. It was highly likely that all three girls had been killed by the same person.

She was found by a young boy who was out walking his dog. The dog ran down the steep slope into the cove and stood in a watchful stance on the rocks as though guarding something just out of his young master’s vision. When admonished to return, the animal had commenced a loud, distressed wailing. His owner, threatening dire consequences, scrambled down into the cove, only to stumble upon its awful secret.

I sat in the parlour with an open book in my lap, mindlessly reading the same passage over and over. My ears were attuned to the whispered conversation of the two parlour maids who were ostensibly polishing the wooden floor just outside the door.

“It were Jimmy Walker what found her.”

“Had she been…you know?” From the other girl’s shocked giggle, I guessed that a crude gesture had accompanied the words.

“They don’t know because her women’s bits had all been cut away.” Silence prevailed for a few minutes while the pair presumably pondered this awful circumstance.

“I didn’t know Nellie Smith right much. Were she walking out with a lad?”

“Don’t think so. She were a shy little thing. Proper tiny, an’ all. Nothing up top, you know? Most lads like a bit of a handful.” My mind’s eye saw the speaker grasp her own breasts and thrust them upward to illustrate the point.

“Jimmy Walker told his ma her face weren’t touched. He said if you didn’t look at her body, you’d think she were sleeping peaceful. But when you did look close, you’d see her head were near cut off. And her hair were all loose—she had lovely hair, did Nellie Smith, thick and fair—and spread about her head. It were like she’d been arranged, he said.”

“Sick bugger.”

“What in thunder are you two gossiping about?” It was Porter’s voice, and it was followed by the clatter of dropped brushes and polish and an accompanying flurry of activity.

Snow had come on noiseless, stealthy wings during the night, leaving deep drifts and icy shards. Exactly as Porter had predicted. Nature played a coy game with the landscape, not revealing the whole story, keeping her secrets well hidden. All at once, winter caught Athal House up in a private, quiet world, keeping its inhabitants close to the hearth and making introverts of us all. I gazed out the window at the silent, dreaming garden with dismay. I could not imagine anyone making a journey today. Or anytime soon. Sandor could not leave, which also meant I could not escape him.

I found Eddie alone in the library, regarding the pearl-and-lace pattern of the snowy coastline with an unfathomable expression. He smiled as I entered the room, but I was shocked to see how gaunt he looked. It occurred to me then that his family home was slowly killing him.

“When Christmas is over and the snow clears, let’s go away from here. Let’s not wait any longer,” I said, going to stand next to him and leaning my head companionably against his shoulder. He slid an arm about my waist, and we stood there for a long time without speaking.

“Neither Karol nor Miss Cadwallader will be leaving Tenebris anytime soon,” Eddie said, echoing my earlier thoughts. I sighed. I would have to tolerate Sandor’s brooding watchfulness and Vicky’s giddy attempts to ensnare Cad for even longer. “In fact, it seems likely that they will be at Athal House for the entire festive season.”

“Will this weather hinder the police in their attempts to find out what happened to Nellie Smith?” I asked. I felt him draw away from me slightly.

“These murders sicken me.” His voice throbbed with emotion. “I’m so afraid, Dita. This place is evil, yet it is mine and it claims me. How can I hate what it makes me into and yet love it at the same time?”

Chapter Eleven

It is a nothing, lightless moon that turns the red-brick walls black and transforms the shallow doorway where he stands into a deep, dark cave. Drunken shouts and curses ring out from the tavern over the road. Hooves ring loud on the cobbles and a train drums steadily by.

This one is a beauty with her pearly skin, curls that tumble to her waist and a body that would make any man’s heart sing. In his case, she also makes his knife hand throb. He cocks his head, waiting to hear his master’s voice. It doesn’t come. But it matters not. He has to have this one. She is all his. A reward for his continued obedience.

The girl is busy with a punter in the next doorway. The man is taking his time. His grunts and groans are becoming tiresome.

The girl clearly agrees. Her sigh is weary. “Get a move on, darlin’, do. I’m freezin’ me arse off here.” The words are less than encouraging, but they work like a charm. A howl of something close to pain signifies her troublesome customer has reached his climax at long last. Seconds later, she emerges from her trysting place.

He steps out in front of her, and, hands on her hips, she throws back her head. “Well, aren’t you the saucy one? Was you waitin’ for me to be done? And you such a fine, handsome gent! Come on then, lover, I know a little place down by the railway line.” She grabs his arm and, laughing, leads him to her death.

* * *

Christmas was known as
Nadelik
in Cornwall and was celebrated in a traditional manner at Athal House. Lucy and Tynan scorned the fashionable additions to the festive season that had been introduced by the royal family. Their house was decorated with boughs of greenery, and a vast yule log burned faithfully in the fireplace. Eleanor taught me to say
“Nadelik Lowen”
and laughed delightedly at my accent. We gathered armfuls of ivy and hunted down some mystical fronds of mistletoe with which to adorn the doorways. I was aware of Sandor’s menacing presence and knew he was biding his time, furious at the delay that kept him at Tenebris. I was even more aware of Cad, but for very different reasons. Eddie appeared to sink deeper into his own private darkness with each passing day. I missed my friend and agonised about how to reach him and lift him out of the trough of his own despair.

Eleanor explained that one of the Athal traditions was the strange and mysterious celebration of Montol, which was held every year on the winter solstice, a few days before Christmas. Montol Eve saw a procession of masked and disguised locals—known as guisers—dancing through the narrow streets of the village in a parade that resembled an Italian carnival. This procession then wound its way to Tenebris, where a spectacular feast awaited the revellers.