by Jane Godman
“And is he happy to be known by that name?” I asked wonderingly. “The word ‘cad,’ after all, is generally applied to those who are dishonourable and without principle.”
“When you meet Cad,” he told me with a grim smile, “you will understand.” From the look on Eddie’s face when he spoke of his brother, I wasn’t sure I did want to meet Cad Jago.
I decided it was time to take the bull by the horns. “I think you should introduce me to your father,” I said, linking my arm through his. Eddie glanced down at me and began to say something. Instead he stopped and, with a return of something approaching his usual smile, patted my hand gratefully before steering me up to the suite of rooms that comprised the earl’s quarters.
The marks of Tynan Jago’s recent illness were clear. His face was drawn and fine lines fanned the corners of his eyes. He was confined to a wheelchair, but despite his enfeebled state, the Earl of Athal was still a handsome, charismatic figure. Eddie’s blue eyes might be his mother’s, but in all other respects, he resembled his father. Tynan was the poet Eddie longed to emulate, effortlessly graceful, finding beauty where others could not. His amber gaze was warm when it rested on me. I sensed more sympathy from him than from his redoubtable wife.
He clasped Eddie’s hand and his eyes roamed over his son’s face. Eddie’s mood had shifted again and he was calmer now in his father’s presence. Tynan seemed satisfied with what he saw. “It is good to see you, my boy. It has been far too long.”
Eddie hunched an impatient shoulder. “But, sir, you, of all people, must know how this place stifles me,” he said. There was a lingering suggestion of the sulky schoolboy in his manner.
“Nevertheless, you have an obligation to the name,” Tynan reminded him. His voice was gentle and rather sad. “The Jagos don’t own Tenebris; we belong to it. There is so much you need to know, and my illness has reminded me that both of us have a duty in that respect. I’m afraid your wandering days must come to an end, my son.” Eddie’s muttered exclamation interrupted him. I glanced nervously from one to the other. I decided I should leave them to continue their discussion in peace. When I began to rise from my seat, however, Tynan gestured me back. A reassuring smile flickered over his features.
“I cannot compete when it comes to the running of the estate, sir!” Eddie exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “After all, there is another who knows far more than I ever will.”
“If you are referring to your brother, it is true. Cad understands more about the Athal estate than you, me and my former man of business put together. We should count ourselves fortunate to have the benefit of his natural ability and expertise. But Cad is not my heir.”
“And you never tire of regretting that circumstance, do you, sir?”
“You know that isn’t true, Eddie.” Tynan’s tone was gentle, but he looked tired suddenly. “And it is most unfair of you to suggest that it is.”
Gold eyes met turbulent blue ones in a prolonged exchange. The outcome seemed in doubt at first, but Eddie finally muttered an apology and Tynan’s features relaxed.
“Where is Cad?” Eddie asked, taking a seat next to me. His hand reached out instinctively for mine, and I saw Tynan’s eyes drop to take in the gesture.
“He has been travelling around the country checking on our interests. At present, I believe he is in Liverpool.” He turned to me, explaining further. “Although our family home is here in Cornwall, Miss Varga, the Athal estate is a vast network of business concerns. Prior to my twenty-first birthday, the estate was run by my uncle, Uther Jago. He was also my guardian.” His voice was level, but I sensed a world of stories behind the words. “He built up the empire that exists today. I, in my own way, have added to it. My other son, Cad, acts as my man of business. We have factories in Lancashire and a port office in Liverpool that oversees exports and imports.” Throughout this speech, Eddie fiddled restlessly with the bracelet I wore. He appeared not to be listening. “This will all belong to Eddie, to both of you, one day.”
“It sounds quite daunting,” I said. I tried to draw Eddie into the conversation by looking his way, but his gaze was fixed on a point just beyond his father’s head.
Tynan nodded. “It would be, I believe, were it not for Cad’s almost superhuman efforts.” I couldn’t help feeling it was rather tactless of him to keep emphasising that point, when it clearly unsettled Eddie to hear of his brother’s expertise. “Now, of course, it is time for both my sons to work together. This illness of mine is a timely reminder of the need for Eddie to pick up the reins.” I was relieved when he changed the subject. “But my manners are sadly lacking today, my dear. These are conversations for the estate office, not the house. Tell me about your journey. The channel crossing can be most unpleasant at this time of year.” We passed another ten minutes in an exchange of idle pleasantries. I relaxed further when Eddie finally joined in the conversation, entertaining his father with an account of my reaction upon being introduced to an item called “black pudding” during my first—and, I vowed, last—English breakfast. I was still of the opinion that this supposed delicacy, a type of sausage made from dried pig’s blood, was a practical joke played by the entire English nation on the rest of the world. I was content, however, to let Tynan and Eddie’s laughter wash over me, since this signalled that the difficult conversations were at an end. For the time being, at least.
Eddie and I took our leave of his father and went to get ready for dinner. A maid showed me to my bedchamber, but, once inside, I realised I had left my purse in Tynan’s room. Clicking my tongue impatiently at my own carelessness, I hurried back along the corridors to get it. The door to the earl’s suite was open, and as I approached, I heard Tynan talking to Lucy. I paused guiltily at one side of the doorway. They were discussing me. Their disapproval was clear, but, I was forced to concede, hardly surprising.
“I cannot like this engagement, Tynan,” Lucy was saying. “We know nothing of this girl, only that he met her in Paris. I have every respect for Harris’s efficiency as a solicitor. And when we asked him to find out about Eddie’s life in France, he reported that our son was living with a woman. One, moreover, whom he described as being of easy virtue. I’m sure you will agree that Harris is not a gentleman given to exaggeration, and I remember distinctly that he told us Eddie’s mistress was known amongst the artistic community for her extortionate prices. It does not take a great leap of the imagination to guess what she was charging for! The future Countess of Athal is nothing more than a common prostitute!”
“We do not know that this girl is the same one. If she is, I agree, it is hardly an ideal situation,” he replied. “But only consider, hweg, this marriage may be exactly what Eddie needs to make him settle down and take his responsibilities to the family and the estate seriously at long last.”
“Nonsense!” she replied briskly. “He has fallen in love with her face.”
“Ah, but what a face!” Tynan interrupted her. “My God, Lucy, Mother Nature must feel very proud of her achievements whenever her gaze lights on our prospective daughter-in-law.”
“But don’t you see, Tynan? That is not love. Eddie has always been overly susceptible to beauty, and, you are right, the girl is dazzling. You can’t base a marriage, however, especially this marriage, on looks. He wants to paint her or write poems about her, or whatever his current artistic fancy may be. Well, let him. But why on earth he had to propose marriage, bring her here to our home…”
“To be fair to him, hweg, I suspect he wants to do more with her than just get her likeness down on canvas or extol her beauty in rhyming couplets! As well as being quite heart-wrenchingly lovely, she also exudes a remarkable physical energy. A sensuality that makes even a sick old man’s heart sing a new song. Initially, I thought her hold on him must be purely sexual, but I noticed how much calmer he is in her presence. She may be exactly what is needed to rejuvenate this family. God alone knows how hard it was for Eddie to return. I consider it a positive development that he ha
s a beautiful woman at his side to take his mind off the transition from feckless wanderer to eminent landowner and businessman.”
I heard her heavy sigh. “I’m not a prude, Tynan, as you well know. He wants her in his bed, and it sounds like she is only too willing to oblige. For a price! But marriage? No. That price is too high. We both know, my dearest, that Eddie is just not strong enough to resist the lures she must have cast his way. And there is also the future of the Athal line to be considered.”
He laughed. “Listen to yourself, Lucy-love! You sound like Demelza in her heyday.” I heard her mutter an outraged protest, and then there was silence. When Tynan spoke again, his voice was muffled and I sensed he had drawn his wife into a soothing embrace. “The Jago name is not untainted, as we both know only too well. This girl cannot do more harm than that which past generations have already inflicted. My God, remember the days when we’d have counted ourselves blessed to escape from Tenebris with our lives, and be known forever as plain Mr and Mrs Smith? Eddie is twenty-eight years old, and we have indulged his wild whims for long enough. I cannot forbid this marriage, so we must make the best of it. The important thing now is to make him face his responsibilities.”
I decided it was time to make my presence known. I tiptoed a little distance away and then, making sure my footsteps echoed on the wooden strip of floor that was not covered by carpet, approached the open door again. Their conversation ended abruptly and they both turned to look at me. Tynan’s eyes were warm on my face, but Lucy’s attempt at a welcoming smile was strained.
“Yours seems to have been a whirlwind romance,” Lucy remarked as I retrieved my purse. She had an unusual knack of managing to convey volumes, without any added inflection in her voice or change in her expression. “How did you meet Eddie?”
“We were introduced by a friend,” I said quietly. She regarded me steadily, and I felt an unaccustomed blush tinge my cheeks. It was true. In a way. A mutual acquaintance, one of the artistic community, had told Eddie my name as I slipped off my robe and applied a touch of rouge to my nipples.
Chapter Three
Is this a dream? Or a memory? He already knows the truth, but is afraid to hear it spoken, even inside his own head.
Haunting the narrowest lanes and alleys, he blends into the night streets. No one suspects his intention. How can they when he can deceive even himself? Watching. Brooding. Waiting just beyond the circle of the lamplight. He is a nightmare unseen but not unknown. Life is his gift for the taking. Lovingly, his fingers caress the blade.
Splinters of ice are scattered carelessly over the ground. His warm breath sends clouds billowing into the glassy air. The only sounds are the hushed whispers of clandestine lust. When her latest customer gives a final grunt, she lowers her skirts and her heels ring out on cobbled stones. In spite of him, she is still plying her nighttime trade, seeking a coin for bread—or absinthe. Daring him to come for her. He thought he had dealt with her, but it seems she will never learn. He will have to show her all over again. The thought excites and repulses him.
“All women are whores,” his master states conversationally. “They all have their price. Some have yet to discover what theirs is, that’s all.”
She giggles when he beckons her. Business is good tonight. The last one’s seed still trickles down her thighs. His kiss is tender and melting. One hand claims the slender pulsing column of her throat while the other tangles itself in the abundant softness of her fair hair. She opens her eyes as he raises the knife. Her mouth forms a silent O of surprise. Without a struggle, she allows the night to engulf her. This is the best part, the moment when the lifeblood drains and the light fades from her eyes. Now nothing human remains of either of them.
* * *
Eleanor Jago was dainty and fair, a younger, mirror image of her mother. She regarded me with wide-eyed curiosity and another expression that I could not read, before turning to greet Eddie. There was an awkwardness about the embrace they shared that struck a discordant note. Perhaps it was because they had not seen each other for so long.
Eddie’s eyes were warm as he released her and studied her upturned face. “As beautiful as ever, sis,” he said softly and she shook her head, a becoming blush staining her pale cheeks. She turned back to me as Lucy introduced us. I couldn’t help noticing the way Eddie’s eyes stayed on her face, with a tender expression in their depths. Although he spoke of his brother with distrust, it seemed he was fond of his sister.
I was most surprised to learn that Eleanor and I were of a similar age. In fact, she was almost a year older, even though she appeared so much younger. The life I had led had imbued me with experiences most women my age would never have. Fortunately for them.
“Your gown is beautiful,” Eleanor told me shyly, eying the shimmering bronze folds with admiration.
“Beautiful maybe, but not very practical for this climate,” I replied ruefully. I was surprised my bare arms and shoulders were not blue and goose-bumped with cold. “Your dress is so much more suitable.”
It was the ideal opening gambit in a conversation between two lovers of fashion, and one that we continued over dinner. It ended with a proposed visit to Lucy’s dressmaker in Port Isaac on the following day. In the meantime, Eleanor dashed off to her room and brought back a shawl for me to wear. Until that night, I could never have imagined myself feeling gratitude and affection toward such an unglamorous item of clothing.
The dining room was a long, elegant apartment that ran the length of one wing of the building. Wide French windows gave a breathtaking view over the soaring cliff top. Lucy explained that the dining room in the old castle had been a dark, dreary room with heavy, antique furniture, and she had wanted this room to have a contrasting feeling. Pastel silk wallpaper lined the walls and pale blue velvet curtains lent a soft tone to the light. The pictures on the walls were sylvan landscapes and elegant, sculpted rugs provided pools of bright colour on the polished oak floor.
Our sumptuous meal began with rich tomato soup, followed by an eye-opening variety of other courses. I watched in amazement as the family made short work of cod in oyster sauce, quenelles of duck, braised beef, roast lamb and pheasant with a vast array of vegetables. Several types of homemade bread were placed upon the table alongside pats of golden butter. When the dessert course arrived, I resisted offers of crepes, soufflés, éclairs and meringues and settled instead for an apple. I marvelled at the ability of the Jago family to stay so slim and decided that they probably needed a feast of this enormity to combat the searing misery of the climate. If I wasn’t careful, the chill air could turn me into a shawl-wearing, black pudding–eating slattern who sat by the fire and watched the clock until the next meal was announced. I whispered this prediction to Eddie as I kissed his cheek when I bade him goodnight. He threw his head back and laughed delightedly, causing Lucy to regard us both thoughtfully.
Lucy had explained that my bedroom was in exactly the position that her room had been when she first arrived at Tenebris almost thirty years earlier. She had tried to faithfully recreate the view from the castle over the gardens. All of the main bedrooms had full-length doors that opened onto wide balconies. In daylight the view had taken my breath away. Now I stood in the silver darkness, reflecting on the day’s events. The ocean demonstrated its power by roaring and screeching at the towering cliffs like an angry housewife chastising her errant husband. Mist scudded the sky with promises given then withdrawn. Dim, shrouded stars peeped shyly through splintered fragments of cloud, and the moon paraded her crimson robes of evening.
The sound of a horse’s hooves drew my attention to the narrow path that followed the cliff’s edge. Perfectly matched with the deeper shades of night, a horseman on a jet-black steed thundered toward the house. Everything about both rider and steed spoke of power and the endless destructive force of a fury that blazed out of control. The horse’s muscles rippled beneath its glossy black coat, and the man’s thighs moved in time with the galloping animal, controlling it with
infinitesimal movements. The horse’s mane flew out behind as though lit from within by a whirlwind. Its hooves cleaved the air, barely touching the ground. But it was the rider who drew my attention. There was something in the set and width of those shoulders, the tilt of that proud head that was heartbreakingly familiar. I closed my eyelids briefly against the pain that flared behind them.
The unknown man reined in and glanced up at me as he drew level with the house. For an immeasurable instant, we held that look. Everything was suddenly charged and bright like the instant before a lightning storm. Then he spurred his mount on and was gone. I realised I had been holding my breath, waiting for something to happen. But what? In that instant I had a foreboding that past and present were on a collision course. That something earth-shattering was waiting to happen.
* * *
Winter was a frost-clad knight on a snowy steed, demanding his time. Mellow autumn stubbornly refused to concede her place, but her defeat loomed ever closer. Trees, stark and bare, had long shed their summer splendour. The last leaves were falling like November tears onto the grass, and chattering birds played amongst them like excited school children. The damp smoky haze of bonfires curled through the air. Our footsteps rang out on the stone-hard ground, providing a rhythmic counterpoint to the crunch and rustle of autumn’s own acoustics. Bertram, Eleanor’s spaniel, ran with his nose down, gleefully snorting the leaves into the air.
Eleanor told me that the original castle had been complete with moat and drawbridge. When designing this new incarnation of Tenebris, Tynan had considered reinstating those features. In the end, he had decided to build the follylike arched lodge that spanned the start of the sweeping drive. This pretty building was reminiscent of a fairy-tale cottage, with red-tinged creeper growing over the eaves, and mullioned windows that playfully threw the light back at us. Its pointed turrets were a mischievous reminder of the great monument to feudalism that had once adorned this site. As we approached it along the broad sweep of the drive, Eleanor explained various aspects of the estate to me.
