Echoes in the Darkness

by Jane Godman

  “And you, bitch.” The tone was calm. The voice was not Eddie’s. “Pretending to care for me, behaving like you are my mother.” I backed away slowly and he followed. Knowing what I knew now, the comparison he had just made was a dangerous one. I stopped when my back was against the wall, the knife poised high above my head. In the quivering candlelight, I stared in horror at Eddie’s face. It was as if a mask was descending over his familiar features, muting but not completely hiding them. Eddie’s terrified expression alternated with Arwen Jago’s exultant grin. The effect was like intermittent sunlight and shadow dappling the still waters of the Seine. The knife began a slow, jerky descent toward my throat. Eddie was fighting for control of his own body.

  “Dita” It was a soft, pleading breath, and it was his own dear face I saw as he spoke. A sob escaped my lips. Seeing the facade of Arwen Jago’s features slip away was more frightening than the mask itself. The full horror of what had happened to Eddie was revealed by the desperation in his eyes. The knife paused. Eddie’s body jerked and he cried out in pain. Then Arwen Jago’s deep gold smile flashed once more behind the familiar blue of Eddie’s eyes. “What are you waiting for? Slit the whore from ear to ear. See if she looks as good when she has another mouth.” The blade’s downward arc began again, swifter now, until the tip was a mere inch from the tender flesh just below my chin.

  “Help me, Dita,” Eddie pleaded, his body convulsing wildly with the effort of keeping Arwen at bay. The knife pricked my skin and I felt a warm trickle run down my neck. I knew the sight of my blood would further inflame Arwen’s lust for murder.

  “I love you, Eddie,” I told him quietly. “You don’t have to fight him alone. I’m here.” I reached up and caught hold of his wrist. Immediately, I felt Arwen Jago fight back against me. For a few seconds I stared into the eyes of a man who died centuries ago. A man who was pure evil, who hated women, who had killed the woman he loved by firing a crossbow into her head.

  “So you are not afraid of me?” he said mockingly. We grappled for control of Eddie’s hand, and then it was all over. With a superhuman effort, Eddie Jago was back in control once more. The knife went spinning across the floor and it was Eddie—just Eddie—who dropped to his knees, covering his face with both hands.

  I moved toward Eleanor, but before I reached her, there was an almighty crash. The wooden door splintered and flew back on its hinges, and in the newfound light, I saw Cad descend the stairs in two bounds. He didn’t pause in his stride, so his fist, when it connected with the side of Eddie’s head, carried the full force of his forward momentum. Eddie toppled facedown onto the mattress.

  I was caught swiftly up in the strong arms I feared I would never again feel. “Dear God!” Cad pressed a series of wild kisses onto my face. “Until I heard him shout your name, I thought I’d lost you, Dita. Oh, my love. My darling girl.”

  “Eleanor,” I gasped hoarsely, gesturing to her inert body, and he released me. I knelt beside her and felt her wrist. “She is alive, Cad, but barely. We must get her to the house…” I turned my head in time to see Eddie struggle to his knees, his hand scrabbling for the knife.

  “My darling girl? My love?” he snarled, staggering to his feet, and gazing wildly from me to Cad and then back again. “What a fool I’ve been! My master was right about you, Dita. You are a treacherous little bitch.” He mimicked my voice. “I’m your friend, Eddie. Oh, how I love you, Eddie. Let me help you, Eddie. And all the time…” He wiped his hand across his trembling lips, his voice rising on a sob. “With my brother? With him, Dita? Him! You could not have chosen a man I hated more if you tried.”

  He lunged toward me with the knife outstretched, and Cad, with those lightening reflexes Eddie had bemoaned to me once, stepped between us. I cried out in anguish as the blade struck home and Cad went reeling back, clutching a hand to his upper arm. Blood glistened black between his fingers. “You will only get one chance to kill me, Ed,” he said, his voice unmoved. “And that was it. You failed. As you have failed at so many things throughout your life.”

  With an animal snarl, Eddie whirled away from us and ran up the cellar stairs.

  “Cad, he must be stopped. He will try to kill your mother,” I warned.

  “I’ll go after him. Don’t worry, I’ll send someone to help Eleanor out of here and take you both to safety.”

  I grasped his lapels. “What about you? Because he knows about us, he wants to kill you, too, now.”

  He pressed his lips to mine briefly. “He has always wanted to do that. But, unfortunately for him, I’m not a defenceless young girl. Trust me, bouche.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sergeant Ross, the young officer who had cast shy, admiring glances my way such a short time ago, arrived soon after Cad left us. Accompanied by two other police officers, he had a considerably more businesslike manner on this occasion. On his instructions, one of his companions lifted Eleanor into his arms and carried her back up the cellar steps. The harsh light of a lantern held aloft stung my eyes as I emerged from the gloom and, although the day was fading fast, I found it hard to comprehend that only hours had passed since my incarceration.

  “The doctor is on his way to the house,” the sergeant told me. I nodded and then swayed slightly. With gallantry, he offered me his arm and I took it gratefully, leaning against him as, very slowly, our little procession wound its way back along the path to the main drive.

  When we stepped into the house, it was oddly silent. My reflection in the huge mirror that lined one wall of the entrance hall, showed a pitiful sight. I was coated from head to foot in coal dust, my hair hung in rat’s tails halfway down my back and my neck was plastered with a paste made from soot and blood. What price now, the Divine Dita? Small wonder that the sergeant’s interest had waned somewhat! I had time to spare only a second for the discordant thought before I led the policeman carrying Eleanor up the stairs to her room.

  “Where is the earl? Or the countess?” I asked, smoothing Eleanor’s hair back from her face. Beneath the layers of grime, her flesh was marble pale. Her chest barely moved with each shallow, indrawn breath. “Anyone?” I turned to look at Sergeant Ross over my shoulder. His face was solemn. “Tell me what has happened here,” I ordered.

  “When Mr Cad Jago got back to the house, he found evidence of a struggle in the parlour and his mother was gone. He and his father went off to look for the countess, and Inspector Miller organised a search party comprising those of our officers who were already here and some of the servants. I was detailed to fetch you and Miss Jago to safety, and the butler sent a carriage for the doctor.”

  As if on cue, I heard a carriage draw up in the courtyard below, and within a minute, Porter had ushered Doctor Munroe into the room.

  “This is a bad business,” the doctor said while I marvelled silently at his ability for understatement. “Sergeant Ross, you and your men may leave us now. Miss Varga will assist me.”

  I asked Porter to send hot water, soap and towels up so that I could at least wash Eleanor’s face and my own. Doctor Munroe examined Eleanor thoroughly, pausing to allow me to use my right hand to bathe her face and neck. Livid bruises stood out on her slender throat, and I bit my lip at the memory of how they came to be there.

  “Her skull is not broken,” the doctor pronounced at last. “I believe that her symptoms are a result of the severe shock she has sustained. I have known her since she was a baby, and Eleanor here has never been very strong. Sadly, I predict her recovery may be a long one. Now, let me have a look at that wrist, Miss Varga.” Long, painful minutes later, I was feeling rather woozy. My injured arm reposed in a sling, and I had drunk an evil-tasting draught that the doctor assured me would help with the pain. I sent for Eleanor’s maid and gave her instructions to bathe her mistress and dress her in a clean nightdress. There seemed to be little more I could do for her then, so I accompanied the doctor downstairs, where I noticed, with real gratitude, that Porter had set out tea and cakes in the parlour. Although I man
aged to make desultory conversation with the doctor during this repast, my eyes swivelled constantly toward the door and my ears remained alert for the sound of footsteps.

  Pale beams of twilight were beginning to streak the sky by the time the search parties returned to the house. Cad shook his head gravely at my look of enquiry, and I poured tea for him and Tynan while Doctor Munroe gave them details of Eleanor’s condition. Inspector Miller grouped his men together and discussed the areas they had covered in their search for Eddie and Lucy. The road was guarded so it seemed unlikely that he had left the Athal peninsula. Porter and I carried refreshments over to the little group of police officers.

  “Tell me again what you heard, if you please, Mr Porter,” the inspector asked.

  “There was a commotion in the parlour, sir. Mr Edward was shouting and her ladyship was answering in her usual calm way. Then it went quiet and I did not think there was any cause for concern. It was only when Mr Cad arrived that we discovered the signs of a struggle.”

  “Did you hear anything of what was said?” Inspector Miller urged.

  Porter looked offended. “I am not an eavesdropper, sir,” he said with great dignity.

  “Good God, man! Your mistress’s life may be at stake here!”

  “It would be as well to tell the inspector if you did hear anything, Porter,” I said gently.

  “Well, I can’t see as how it would be important, miss, but I heard Mister Edward say to her ladyship that it was time to write ‘the end’ at the bottom of the page.”

  I drew a sharp inward breath. “I know where he has taken her,” I said to Inspector Miller.

  * * *

  Dogs howled with excitement and strained at their leashes, mist rising in panting plumes from their open mouths. Servants held their lanterns high above our heads on poles so that a soft, golden glow illuminated the whole cliff top. Darkness was beginning to fall in earnest as, decorum abandoned, I held my skirts up above my ankles and raced ahead of the group, leading the search party along the familiar path. The ground was iron hard and remnants of greying snow clung tenuously to the grass. Even in the desperation of my current mission, I half expected to see the sculpted muscles and flaring nostrils of an ebony stallion as its rider’s hand reached down for me. My heart thudded in time with the questions that burned through my mind. Would we find them? And what would we find?

  “This is a lot of time-wasting nonsense, sir.” I heard Sergeant Ross mutter impatiently to the inspector. “My men have been this way several times already.”

  After what seemed an age but was in fact only minutes, we reached the arrowhead point where, heart in mouth, I had watched Eddie vault over the edge. “Hold the lanterns aloft here,” I called breathlessly, and Cad gave the order for the servants to come forward.

  I knelt on the edge of the cliff and leaned over into the abyss, but I could see nothing. “Hold the lanterns out over the edge.” I stretched even farther and caught a glimpse of Lucy’s gown fluttering in the breeze as she crouched low on the narrow ledge at the exact point where Eddie had talked to me about stepping out into oblivion. She was alone.

  Tynan, with some assistance from Cad, scrambled down to her. Drawing her tenderly to her feet, he held her close. At first, it seemed she was too shocked to speak. Eventually, gesturing toward the churning darkness of the Atlantic fury below her, she said simply, “He is gone.” Covering her face with her hands, sobs wracked her slender body. “Oh, Tynan, my love. Eddie is gone.”

  I rose to my feet, but my knees trembled and began to give way. Cad caught me up in his arms, and I subsided gratefully against him. “He is at peace at last, bouche,” he murmured into my hair.

  I shook my head sadly. “I hope you may be right, but Eddie told me once that his soul would never know peace. I think he feared that they—Uther, Arwen, even Demelza who saw him as Uther returned to her—would not let him rest, even in death.”

  The next morning, daylight added the final sorry details to the story. Deep gouges in the grassy slope that led to the cliff edge told their own tale. Eddie’s black greatcoat had been flung down on the rocky shelf where, it seemed, Lucy had tried to restrain him. Farther down the steep precipice, my scarf, which he had flaunted in place of a cravat, was caught on the branches of a single scrubby tree that clung obstinately to the rocks. The churning ocean below us sounded out its victorious serenade.

  * * *

  The Jago crypt sat directly behind St Petroc church. Guarded by statues of angels, the imposing wooden doors bore the Athal coat of arms. Lucent in tenebris. Shine in darkness. The words at once so poignant and yet so sinister. Cad and I lingered awhile after the other mourners had returned to the house.

  “He was my friend,” I said quietly, pressing my hand against the crypt door in a final gesture of farewell. “Yet I couldn’t help him.”

  “The damage was done long before you met him, bouche. In truth, it was done long before he was born. But Eddie loved you, you know. In the end, he couldn’t kill you, and given the torture his mind was going through, that speaks volumes about the power of his feelings for you.”

  “Did you know it was him all along? Some of the things you said implied it.” We had not really spoken of it. In the period between Eddie’s death and his funeral, we had tried to focus on loving each other. That had been what helped us heal, if “healing” was the right word.

  “No. If I had known for sure, or even had anything concrete to take to Miller, I would have spoken, of course. He was my brother, but I could not have allowed another girl to lose her life to him. All I had were suspicions, nothing more. The fact that the girls all looked alike and looked like our mother, for one thing. But I could never quite believe it was him, that my brother Eddie was the murderer.”

  “Why did he hate you so?”

  “I think perhaps it was because I knew him so well. I could see behind the facade he showed the world, and it was that he hated more than me, the person. I still saw the scared, scarred little boy and it didn’t fit the image he wanted to present.”

  We had been in Paris, on our honeymoon, when the letter came from Lucy informing us that a body had been washed up several miles south of Athal. Tynan had suffered a relapse of his illness and was too unwell to go and identify the body. Although it was highly unusual for a woman to undertake such a task, Lucy had gone in his stead. Given the condition of the body, it was impossible to say for certain that it was Eddie, but she was able to confirm Inspector Miller’s belief that it seemed highly likely it was him. Leaving our elegant hotel on the Champs-Élysées, Cad and I had returned to say this final farewell to Eddie.

  “Will we be able to have children, Cad?” I asked as we made our way slowly up the cliff path toward the house. It had been an unspoken question between us since our subdued wedding day two weeks after Eddie’s death. I thought of him and of Eleanor, who was beginning to show more signs of life, although she had not yet spoken or stirred from her bed. I tried not to think of Uther and Demelza. “Could we ever be sure they would not be tainted by the Jago legacy?”

  He stopped and drew me into his arms. On one side the ocean roared an angry rebuke to the cliffs and on the other, Athal House slumbered in the early spring sunlight. I still had that overwhelming sense that I belonged here. Perhaps that feeling was more powerful than the words Cad spoke.

  “I don’t know, bouche. There are those of us who are untainted. My father. His father before him. Myself. Even Eleanor, because, although her mind may be childlike, her heart is pure and untouched by evil. But we can’t know for sure what the next generation of Jagos will be like.”

  An image of a boy playing on the sand, his clear, blue eyes crinkling into a smile and his ready laughter ringing out across the bay reached me then. Perhaps “healing” was the right word, after all. “Maybe we can,” I said, tucking my hand into Cad’s arm and turning our footsteps away from the house. I led him back toward Port Isaac. “There is someone I would like you to meet…”

  Ep
ilogue

  August 1888

  “The nurse said she is a little better today. I will take a light breakfast up to her shortly,” I say as I enter the parlour. Cad lays his newspaper aside and rises from his chair, coming forward to draw me into his arms. “You are insatiable, sir!” I pretend to protest as his arms tighten around me and the kiss deepens into something more than a greeting.

  “As always with you, bouche,” he murmurs, his lips sliding down to linger at the hollow of my throat.

  We draw apart as Eleanor enters the room, casting her shy, apologetic smile our way. She takes her usual seat by the window and gazes out, with unseeing eyes, across the cliff top to the roaring ocean beyond. Trapped forever in the childlike innocence I failed to recognise when we first met, she has not spoken a word since the night Eddie died. I sit with her for a while and she leans her head against my shoulder companionably. Summer scatters bright jewels over the scene. The English weather has its own vocabulary, one that I have painstakingly learned. I have grown to love my adopted land, although, to the world I now inhabit, I will always be an exotic creature. My mind flies back to the hushed conversation I overheard between two society ladies, not long after my wedding twenty years ago.

  “Darling! How delightful. It’s been too long. Now, do tell, who is that positively ravishing creature in turquoise?”

  “I can’t quite—oh, you mean the future Countess of Athal?” The voice was lowered dramatically. “Cad Jago married a foreigner, you know.”

  “Did he really? How very odd of him, to be sure.”

  “Well, quite! His wife is dazzling, of course, but why he couldn’t have chosen a nice English gal, I’ll never know. Still, it was a dreadful time for the family, what with his brother’s death, so I expect he wasn’t himself. The marriage appears to be a success. Indeed, he is rumoured to be quite devoted to her!”