Echoes in the Darkness

by Jane Godman

  “Ah, yes! There is the little matter of the title, is there not?” His voice was ice and I winced. “You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last beautiful woman to snare one of those simply by using what you have between your legs.”

  “Don’t be so crude,” I whispered. I could hear the hurt in my own voice.

  He laughed cruelly. “I can be a hell of a lot cruder. But you know that already, don’t you? And I don’t remember you complaining.” He took another slug from the bottle and the dangerous glint in his eyes deepened. “Does he know about me?” I shook my head. “Well, that should make for an interesting conversation. We don’t usually have much to say to each other, but swapping notes about you might provide us with more to talk about.”

  “What will you gain by telling him?” I asked. “Other than to cause him hurt?”

  “Ah, sweet Dita.” There was a laugh trembling on the edge of his voice. “How little you know of our family. Hurting each other is something of a specialty for the Jagos. Sometimes we also enjoying hurting nonfamily members.” Cad slid from the bed and came toward me.

  I wanted to tell him then. Suddenly it seemed that it would be the easiest thing in the world to melt into his arms and say, “I am not really engaged to your brother, but I cannot allow myself to love you because, if I do, a madman called Sandor Karol will kill us both.” I actually opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, Cad moved closer. His eyes raked my face.

  “When I think of him touching you, I want to put my fist through a wall. Or through his head. I think they call it jealously. I wouldn’t know because I’ve never felt it before. I wish I could get you out of my mind, bouche. I wish I could close my eyes and, just for once, not see your face.” He was swaying slightly now. “The only consolation is I know you ache to feel me inside you again every bit as much as I long to be there.”

  “No,” I said softly, and he bent his head closer to hear. I couldn’t help myself. “I want you more,” I whispered in despair.

  “It’s not a bloody competition,” he muttered, grabbing my hand and jerking me hard against his chest. The effort made him stumble backward slightly and he fell heavily onto the bed, pulling me down on top of him. I lay, unmoving, for a heart-changing minute, then I lifted my head cautiously to look down at his face. I did not know whether to be angry or amused at the discovery that he had fallen asleep.

  * * *

  Conversation at the breakfast table was stilted until Porter appeared with devastating news. “Another girl has gone missing. This time in Port Isaac, my lord, and the police are asking all able-bodied men to join a search party.” A tiny frown marred Tynan’s brow at Porter’s words, and he turned to look at his wife, a question clouding his eyes. She gave a very slight shake of her head.

  All at once I knew what that silent exchange meant. And I knew the answer to their unspoken question. Because, of course, I knew where Cad had spent the night. And, as far as I was aware, he was still there. Hurriedly, I excused myself and made my way back to my bedroom. Once there, I flung back the heavy velvet curtains to let the sickly sunlight in through the windows. The prone figure on the bed stirred slightly. Cad was lying facedown with his head buried under a pillow, and I reached out a hand to shake him by the shoulder. He came fully awake at my touch, turning to regard me with surprise that changed gradually to amusement.

  “I see,” he murmured, looking me up and down with interest. “It cannot have escaped your notice that I was somewhat the worse for wear last night, bouche. I do hope I managed to acquit myself honourably?”

  “You did not acquit yourself at all,” I informed him. Bluntly, I reminded him what had passed between us following the knock on my door that had roused me at an ungodly hour. “You tumbled headlong onto my bed and commenced snoring like a tormented lion,” I reminded him.

  He gave a shout of laughter, and I found my lips curving upward in an answering smile. He might be infuriating, but he was also irresistible. Thankfully, he appeared to have forgotten that I had confessed how much I wanted him. And the dawn had brought me back to sanity. Even if there was no Sandor, my feelings for Cad would snap my only friend like a twig bent over a child’s knee. Eddie was not strong enough to cope with the knowledge of the untamed passion I felt for the one man he hated above all others.

  “Who undressed me?” Cad asked, lifting the bedclothes and studying his own—presumably naked—body with interest.

  I shrugged. “I expect you did it yourself during the night. I wouldn’t know, having spent the rest of the night on the sofa in the dressing room.”

  “Ah, no wonder you are as cross as a stranded crab this morning.” He nodded sagely, shuffling the pillows behind him so that he could sit up. “I must have been very drunk,” he observed.

  “You were,” I assured him.

  He continued as if I had not spoken. “To have passed up an opportunity to reenact our Parisian idyll.”

  “Perhaps you remembered that I am going to marry your brother?” I said coldly.

  He appeared to give the matter some thought. “No, I didn’t remember that, and I don’t think it would have stopped me if I had,” he said.

  ”It might have stopped me, however!” I exclaimed.

  Without warning, his hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me down so that I lay diagonally across his chest. I stayed still, breathing in stale brandy fumes and cigar smoke and the achingly, adorably familiar scent of his body. I could see amber fire dancing in the depths of his eyes, and the slight chip in the front of one of his otherwise perfect teeth. One strong hand gripped my chin, bringing my face closer to his, while the long fingers of the other slid just inside the lace at the neckline of my dress. His mouth followed the trail of his fingertips and lightly brushed the delicate flesh where the swell of my breast met the cloth of my gown. The infinite tenderness of his mouth contrasted wonderfully with the maddening rasp of stubble. I shuddered violently.

  “Would it, now?” he asked, holding my gaze. Hating myself, I shook my head. There was no hiding from the truth. I had been utterly captivated by Cad from the first minute I saw him. And I knew that nothing in my life would ever match the depth of the emotion I felt for him. False loyalty to his brother could not even scratch the surface. Even the menacing threat of Sandor could not keep me from the truth. Cad Jago had turned me into a sorry, quivering mess of a girl, and the only cure would be to get away from him and away from Tenebris.

  Cad laughed. “That’s better, bouche. Honesty is an underrated, and much underused, quality. Particularly, in my experience, by those of your sex,” he said. “Now I suggest that, if you wish to preserve your pretence of maidenly modesty, you avert your eyes.” And without further warning, he slid from beneath the covers. With an outraged squeal, I turned my back.

  “Another girl has gone missing,” I informed him. I sensed his movements become still. “Your father has been asked to help set up a search party.”

  “What does she look like?” he asked, and it was such an odd question that I swung back to face him. Thankfully, he had already donned his trousers.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted.

  “I would offer you a prediction, but I don’t have time,” he said cryptically. Gathering up the rest of his clothing, he dropped an impertinent kiss on my cheek and was gone. I stared at the closed door for a long time. My whole body thrummed with suppressed longing, and my thoughts were in turmoil.

  Chapter Eight

  The servants, as always, were full of the story and keen to share it. The missing girl was called Nellie Smith and she worked as a lady’s maid in the house of a wealthy landowner whose home was situated half a mile from Port Isaac. She had every Wednesday afternoon off, and her routine during that time never varied. She walked into the town to visit her family. Her mother was a widow and Nellie was the oldest of six children. Mother and daughter would spend the afternoon shopping and baking, and Nellie would set off for her employer’s house again after they had eaten t
heir evening meal together. Both Nellie’s mother and her employer were adamant. You could set your clock by her.

  But Nellie had not arrived at her mother’s house on this particular Wednesday afternoon. After waiting an hour, Mrs Smith had gathered up the younger members of her brood and marched up to the smart mansion where Nellie worked.

  “She’ll have met her friends on the way and gone off with them,” the housekeeper said soothingly, when it emerged that Nellie had set out as usual. She had even told one of the footmen she was “off to her ma’s.”

  “No, our Nellie’d die afore she’d let me down,” Mrs Smith had insisted. In hindsight, the words had an ominous, prophetic ring.

  Cad, together with most of the servants and estate workers, had joined the search party, but no sign of Nellie Smith had yet been found. Dispirited by the atmosphere of gloom, and unsettled by my nighttime encounter with Cad, I slipped out of the house and followed the cliff path toward Port Isaac. Below me, the incredible creativity of nature was on display. Over countless eons, water from both narrow streams and the Atlantic Ocean had sculpted cliffs, boulders, pebbles and sand into fascinating, improbable shapes. The sensation of walking along England’s edge, at the world’s end, overwhelmed me. I felt small and insignificant. The weather was blustery and chill, but my head was clearer and my footsteps lighter by the time I reached the cobbled streets and followed a familiar path.

  I reached the tiny cove that Eleanor and I had come to on my first visit to the town. It was the place to which the errant Bertram had led us with his stubborn refusal to come when his mistress called. I paused, recapturing the breath my brisk pace had stolen from me. The boy, Tristan, who we had seen on that first day, was there again, digging in the damp sand. He looked up from his task as I approached and regarded me with interest.

  “You were with Miss Eleanor,” he said, rising from his kneeling position and brushing the sand from his knees. Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “Are you looking for Nellie Smith, as well? I thought the murderer might have buried her body in the sand.”

  “We must hope she is found alive,” I said, although I, like everyone else, had grave doubts that would be the case.

  “How do you suppose he gets them to go with him?” Tristan asked, as if we had known each other for years. “Supposing she is dead, and supposing it was the same man that killed Amy Winton. What would make them go off with him?”

  “He must get them to trust him,” I said, giving the matter some thought. “Something about him convinces them that they will be safe.”

  We sat on the low wall that ran parallel to the bay and, although his mind did not stray far from the probable fate of the missing girl, we chatted companionably. He was surprisingly well spoken. He told me, in the open, confiding manner I would come to associate with him, that he had a private tutor and that he was to go away to boarding school in the new year. I cast a quick glance back at the tiny cottage that was his home and tried to compute the two circumstances. Boarding school and private tuition required money, and I could not see any outward evidence that Tristan’s family were in possession of such a commodity.

  “Will Miss Eleanor come again soon?” Tristan asked with a wistful look in the depths of his eyes. “My mother says she is a very busy lady, but I do miss her when she doesn’t come often. And I haven’t seen Bertram in an age.”

  “Do any other members of Miss Eleanor’s family come to visit you, Tristan?” I asked. I had already learned that he had no father. Perhaps his mother was a former family retainer? That would explain why Eleanor came to visit this lowly cottage.

  “The older lady—the one my mother calls ‘her ladyship’—she came once when I was ill. She said she would send for the doctor and, when he came, she gave him money to get me to the hospital. She told my mother she must let her know if there was ever anything more she needed.” He pushed the lock of dark hair that flopped onto his brow back with an impatient hand. It was a familiar gesture, and one that made me study his face closely. The resemblance was there, of course, although muted. I should have seen it before.

  When Tristan’s mother appeared in the doorway and called him in to dinner, I surveyed her carefully. I judged her to be in her mid-forties. She was a stout, little woman with a frizz of grey hair and a plain but kindly face. “I hope he’s not been bothering you with his chatter, miss?” she asked me, and I assured her that, on the contrary, I had enjoyed talking to her son. Tristan shook my hand formally, and professed a hope that I would come again. I said I would.

  As I made my way back to Athal House, I pondered the mystery that was Tristan. He was a Jago, of that there could be no doubt. But whose son was he? The image of Tynan being unfaithful to Lucy actually made me laugh out loud. That left one of the younger generation. But what could possibly have attracted Eddie or Cad, both so charismatic and good-looking, to Tristan’s mother? Surely either Jago brother had only to snap his fingers to attract any woman into his bed? It was a puzzle that my mind returned to now and then over the ensuing days, but one to which I could unearth no obvious answer.

  * * *

  Christmas was a few short weeks away, and bright red berries, crisp wintergreens and first white snows festooned the landscape with their festive colours. The winter sun turned the daylight silver-blue and made gossamer cobwebs into crystal jewels. Tynan leaned heavily on his stick as we strolled together around the frozen lake.

  “I have heard tales of your homeland.” I looked surprised because I had always been deliberately vague about where I was from. “Of the beauty of Hungary, but also of some lawlessness,” he said quietly. His eyes scanned the grey horizon where sky and sea merged seamlessly. “In particular, I have heard some lurid stories of a man named Takas.” I stiffened warily, but he continued without appearing to notice. “A notorious Hungarian bandit leader. I think you would call him a betyár. Have I said that correctly?”

  I nodded. I had no desire to deceive this man who had shown me nothing but kindness. “Why are you telling me this? Are you asking me to leave?”

  “You could not expect me to admit you into my home and my family without making some enquiries,” he said in his gentle way. “You have hidden your tracks well, my dear. But I have some very persistent sources. You might find it helps to tell me it all.”

  “Very well.” I drew a ragged breath. “My real name is Judita Takas. Liviu Takas was my father. I took the name Varga because it is common in Hungary, and I thought it would not draw attention to me.” The truth had haunted me for so long that it was a relief to finally say the words aloud. “When I was fifteen, my father was killed in a bloody encounter with soldiers who were attempting to capture him. He knew his reign was coming to an end and, before his death, he bequeathed all his goods—including me—to his second in command. That man, Sandor Karol, is more brutal and feared than any other betyár. He inherited my father’s criminal empire, and also tried to stake his claim to me, even though my mother protested that I was still too young. To escape him, we left our home on the southern Hungarian plains and went to live in Buda. But my mother became unwell.” I bit my lip at the memory. “And she died soon after our arrival there. I went to work as a maid to a rich family—”

  “You? A maid?” He interrupted, raising an incredulous brow. “Did the family concerned not question how one so beautiful, and so well educated, came to be in such a lowly position?”

  I allowed a slight smile to peep through at his words, but I shook my head. “I made sure I was very good at my job but remained unobtrusive, so no one ever asked me any questions. I knew Sandor’s men were searching for me, and when they tracked me down, I was forced to leave. I have been running from him ever since. Now and then, he has come close to finding me. He was on his way to Paris when I left.”

  He did not express any opinion, merely watched my face thoughtfully. “Who was your mother? You have clearly been raised a lady, and your English is nearly perfect. How did she come to marry a Hungarian brigand?” he
asked at last.

  “She was the only daughter of an English vicar, and she was travelling across Eastern Europe with him. They were set upon by my father’s betyár gang and my grandfather was killed. My mother was very beautiful.” I felt my lips twist bitterly. My mother and I had both learned the hard way that beauty was not always a desirable commodity. She never complained to me, but I had often felt the weight of my mother’s pain. “And, for that reason, my father spared her life. He kidnapped her, became obsessed with her.” I drew a deep breath. If I was telling the truth at last, I must tell it all. “But they never married.” I turned to face him. “There you have it, all of it. My mother and I travelled with my father and his gang. I was the tie that bound her to him. She could not escape and risk his revenge on us both, so she stayed. As strange as it may seem, toward me my father was kindly, cultured and intelligent. And, despite everything, I think my parents actually grew fond of each other. Unconventional though it was, I had a happy childhood. But the reality remains. I am the bastard daughter of a notorious criminal, sought now by another ruthless murderer, a man who will stop at nothing to get me back. I shamelessly took Eddie’s offer of protection, knowing that I could never marry him. Knowing that my presence might bring Sandor to your door. Hardly the sort of credentials you want from a house guest, one who has, moreover, been befriended so generously by your wife and daughter.”

  “Does Eddie know any of this?” Tynan asked, and I shook my head.

  “No one knows. Only my friend Magda in Vienna. And now you.”

  “Then I see no reason why anyone else needs to learn of it,” he said. “When he returns I am sure you will think of a way, if you must, to break off your engagement that will allow Eddie to save face.” Taking my arm and leaning heavily on his stick, he led me back across the lawn toward the house. “Or you may choose to stay here anyway and allow me to deal with this Sandor Karol. I am not without power, you know.” His words demonstrated how little he had understood of my plight. I did not believe anyone could “deal with” Sandor.