Echoes in the Darkness (7 page)

I lay back on the pillows, my disordered mind trying to make sense of what had I had just seen. I was bone tired; my psyche as battered, bruised and defeated as an old prizefighter after an encounter with a young contender. But, as my eyelids drooped, I felt an overwhelming sense of well-being. The fever had retreated, my limbs had stopped trembling and, for the first time in a long time—since a magical, rainy Paris night when I had been held close in a strong pair of arms, able to temporarily forget that the rest of the world existed—I felt safe.

* * *

Lucy sat at my bedside, her nimble fingers flying across the shirt she was darning. “The village is in an uproar,” she told me. “A young girl has gone missing and no one seems to know where she can be.”

“Could she have run away? Eloped?” I asked. I still felt as weak as a kitten, but at least the room stayed still now when I sat propped against the cushions.

Lucy snipped a loose thread with neat, white teeth. “I suppose anything is possible,” she agreed, “but it is felt to be most unlikely in this instance. She is described by all who know her as a ‘good girl.’ Her mother had sent her to visit an elderly relative. When she didn’t return by nightfall, the alarm was raised. Her basket was found on the cliff path, flung down but still containing half a dozen scones and an apple pie. Her bonnet lay nearby.”

“Perhaps not a runaway or an elopement then,” I remarked. “Maybe she was abducted? Something similar happened in Paris. A number of girls went missing during the time I lived there.” I paused, remembering the sense of menace that had penetrated the narrow Montmartre streets. I was not the only woman who glanced fearfully over my shoulder once darkness fell. “But those girls were all found dead. They had been murdered in the foulest manner.”

“Well, let us hope that Amy Winton has not met a comparable fate. Her disappearance may yet be nothing more than a silly girl’s prank, or a ploy to disguise her involvement with an unsuitable lover,” Lucy said. She folded the shirt she had been working on and regarded me thoughtfully. “You do look a little better, I think. Doctor Munroe fears, however, that your convalescence is likely to be a long one. Of course, your incapacity meant that you missed the great excitement of Charles’s flying visit a few days ago. It was the same day that Eddie left, although their paths did cross briefly.” A worried frown marred her smooth brow, but my tired mind refused to fully absorb her words.

“Charles?” I wrinkled my brow in confusion.

“My younger son. Although you have probably heard him referred to as ‘Cad,’ an unfortunate childhood nickname that has stayed with him.” There was a note of brisk disapproval in her voice. “Some business transaction or another needed Tynan’s approval, so he travelled down and stayed overnight. Then he was going to follow Eddie to London and supervise—I mean,
help
—him there.” Her brow wrinkled again, and I wasn’t sure whether she felt the need to explain further for my sake or her own. “Cad has acted very much as Tynan’s agent these last few years. Tynan says he has more knowledge than anyone we could hire, and, of course, there is the added advantage that Cad loves the Jago estate. He would do anything to promote the family interests. Eddie, of course, has been away, but he will soon learn all of those things.”

I contrasted the accounts I had heard of Cad’s devotion with Eddie’s unswerving hatred for Athal House and anything to do with his proud name. How could two brothers reared in the same manner feel so differently about their heritage?

Perhaps my thoughts were reflected in my face. Whatever the reason, Lucy, her eyes fixed on her sewing, but her voice full of memories, began to tell me more about her family. “When I first came to Tenebris, the sense of evil older than time was palpable. This was—is—a family haunted by past misdeeds. The difference now is that the head of the house is a
good
man. The demons Tynan has fought were never inside himself. For so many of the Jagos that has not been the case, and several of them did not fight at all. Rather, they allowed the wickedness that resided within them to win. Some even delighted in that evil. And it is not just of the distant past I speak.” She raised shadowed, blue eyes to my face, and I was shocked at the expression within them. What horrors must this outwardly serene woman have witnessed? “If you are to join this family, Dita, you need to be aware of that. Tenebris may be gone, but it is still within us all in some measure. My children are not unaffected by its legacy.” She broke off abruptly and said, with a change of tone, “You must have sensed that I wasn’t sure about your engagement at first, but now I’m so pleased that Eddie has met you. I have never seen him so happy as he is with you.”

I hoped the guilt that swept over me didn’t show in my face as I murmured something incoherent. Fortunately, I was not called upon to say more as Eleanor peeped around the door at that moment.

She pulled a face as she observed Lucy’s occupation. “Can’t we just buy new shirts for the poor?” she asked, in that odd, little-girl manner she sometimes had. Coming forward, nevertheless, she gathered up one of the shirts from Lucy’s sewing basket. “Father has enough money. I don’t understand why it is somehow more charitable to darn old ones.”

“Charity, my daughter, is not simply about giving,” Lucy told her. “Ours is a privileged position and an act of humility such as this reminds us of how fortunate we are and our duty to others. If the queen herself does not scorn frugality and altruism, then nor must we.”

“But being good is so dreadfully boring,” Eleanor remarked with a rueful grimace in my direction. Although it was said playfully, I saw the swift glance Lucy sent in her direction and was intrigued by it. I couldn’t really believe that sweet, gentle Eleanor was in any way tainted by the Jago heritage.

“While I am laid up here, I may as well make myself useful,” I said, holding out a hand for a shirt to sew. My companions regarded me with matching expressions that were something akin to astonishment. “I am capable of being practical as well as decorative,” I informed them with a touch of self-mockery. My poor, dear mother, with her dresses that consisted wholly of patches and darns, could have confirmed that. Hurriedly they begged my pardon and the room subsided into silence as we all applied ourselves to the task in hand.

Chapter Five

His eyelids flicker as a bloody dream (not a memory, no, not that) surfaces. The moon gives no gift of light and the night is filled with silent screams. Malignant madness creeps into his mind, unhinging it with grief. But still he must assuage the demon of anger that feasts on his soul. His master, that darkly beautiful monster, leads and guides him like a parent with a child.

When he sees her, his blood stirs, his pulse quickens, his eyelids droop and his lips draw back over white teeth in a smiling snarl. His blade knows no mercy. It bites deep, inflaming him further. Her eyes roll white. When the first rush of blood warms his hands, he wears another’s face. A mask of ancient evil.

* * *

November drear gave way to December ice. Summer was a sweet memory, like the first touch of a lover’s hand. The sky was hung with pale grey drapery, and a low, heavy mist made mountains out of hills. The coastline glowed with pearly light that would set the poet scurrying for his pen, and the artist yearning for his palette. Waves boomed against the cliffs like distant gunfire while winter touched my face with her cold, wet hands. As my strength started to return, I insisted on taking a walk each day, despite the weather. I was glad to escape the claustrophobic confines of my room. Eleanor often escorted me on my afternoon stroll about the grounds. During one of these perambulations, I was surprised to hear a commotion from the gatehouse. The windows in the upper floor were open, and the sound of voices drifted out to us as we passed beneath the arch that spanned the drive.

A feminine laugh, high pitched and excited, rang out. It was followed by a man’s growled command. “For God’s sake, take that bloody thing off.”

“And what if I won’t? How will you make me, sir?” Her voice was low and provocative. Almost immediately her tone changed and an outraged cry of protest drifted out on the wintry air. “A knife? Ah, no! Please, I will do as you wish. I beg you, do not…”

“Shouldn’t we do something?” I whispered to Eleanor in consternation. Before she could answer, however, a blue silk corset, its laces slit neatly down the middle, flew out of the window and landed at our feet.

“I’ll buy you a dozen others. Now come here.” It seemed that the only mutilation we had overheard was that of an item of underwear. I smiled at Eleanor in weak relief and she shrugged, apparently unperturbed by the whole incident. The woman’s shrieks became soft, contented sighs and, minutes later, the unmistakable sounds of passionate lovemaking drifted out to us.

“Cad is home again,” Eleanor informed me, quite unnecessarily. “I believe he is planning to stay for rather longer this time. I don’t think he and Eddie quite hit it off as work colleagues. I heard my father telling Cad that it might be better to let Eddie sink or swim on his own.” Linking my arm, she steered our footsteps back toward the castle. A thrill of mingled dread and excitement coursed through my veins. I was going to meet the dangerous younger brother at last.

* * *

I had heard so much about Cad Jago that my stomach knotted with anticipation and anxiety as I made my way down the stairs just before dinner. I dressed with even more care than usual. My dress of indigo-blue moire silk had a lustrous sheen that highlighted the violet shade of my eyes. Tiny pearl buttons adorned the front, and wide, pagoda-shaped sleeves added an elegant touch. My waist was cinched by a tight-fitting bodice that dipped into a low V before widening to skirts that were spread over a bell-like, hooped petticoat. In spite of the prevailing fashion for a neat chignon, I wore my hair in my favourite style. My gleaming chestnut locks were piled on my head in a loose bun, with one or two curls left framing my face. I wore my mother’s pearl earrings and a single matching strand of the lustrous milky globes around my neck. Although I still looked pale, I felt fully restored to health, and ready—or so I believed—to face the notorious Cad Jago.

There was only one person in the parlour when I entered. A tall, broad-shouldered man who stood with his back to the door, prodding the fire with the gleaming toe of one shoe. Nothing could have prepared me for the tremor of shock that thrilled through me as he turned with a look of enquiry as I entered the room. My stomach tightened and then plummeted. Everything around me became achingly clear and bright, like vertigo in reverse. I could tell he was experiencing a similar sense of surprise and disbelief. The world ceased to exist as I stared at the man I had schooled myself to believe I would never see again.

I closed my eyes, hoping that my imagination was suffering the lingering, delirium-inducing effects of the flu. When I opened them again, he had started impulsively toward me, his hand held out. The smile I remembered so vividly curved his lips. His eyes blazed with the same passion that haunted my dreams with remembered longing. Then, as if recalled to our surroundings, he stopped. The light in his eyes changed and abruptly told me a different story. How could the honeyed fire in their depths burn suddenly
cold?

“This is an unexpected pleasure,
bouche.
” The endearment sent a memory of lust pounding through my bloodstream. My mind took a soaring, sensuous journey back to the rainy Parisian night I had spent in his bed. Softly, as footsteps echoed in the hall outside, he added, “I must admit, I had hoped that when I finally caught up with you again, it would not be so that I could call you ‘sister.’” As Lucy entered the room, he said formally, “I have heard much about the beauty of my new sister-in-law. I’m pleased to learn that rumour did not lie.”

He appeared to have recovered from the debilitating shock that still tried to hold me frozen in its grip. If anything, he seemed mildly amused to see me again in these circumstances. Well, if he could regain his composure so quickly, perhaps I could, too. “And you, sir, are everything I have been led to believe
you
would be.” I strived for a measure of hauteur in my tone. I may even have succeeded. It would not do for him to see how profoundly I was affected by his nearness. “Perhaps more.”

The familiar laugh was infectious, “Oh,
bouche,
” he said, dropping his voice again for my ears alone. “With me, as you have already discovered, there is always more.”

Eleanor and Tynan arrived then, and I was able to regain a modicum of composure in the general bustle of conversation. I watched Cad from beneath my lashes. Even in this room full of handsome people, his magnetism set him apart. It was as if every speck of available light had flown into those amber eyes, lighting and warming their depths. Even the lilacs so artfully arranged in bowls about the room seemed to lean toward him. I would defy anyone to look elsewhere when Cad Jago was present. But, because I loved him, I may have been biased.

“I must tell you that Paris was buzzing with news of your departure,” he said, sliding a hand under my elbow to steer me to the dining room. I noticed, with a little start of surprise, that the others had preceded us and were already seated. “Word was out within a day or two that Eddie had used the promise of his title to lure the perfect muse away from his artistic competitors.”

I bit my lip. “I suppose it would be useless to tell you that I didn’t know who he was until we came to England?” I asked.

“Why waste your time telling me anything of the kind?” he enquired, shaking out a serviette and placing it on his lap. “After all, it doesn’t matter a jot to me how you managed to trap my brother into this engagement. Although, having been on the receiving end of your charms myself, I can well imagine the methods you employed.”

“But I didn’t!” I protested in a furious undertone. Lucy glanced sharply in our direction, and I subsided into blushing silence.

He threw a wicked grin at me, before turning to give his full attention to the footman who was hovering nearby. When he looked my way again, I was still quivering with outrage. “You should get angry more often,” he remarked casually, pouring wine into my glass. “Your beauty doesn’t need any embellishment, of course. The fact that temper brightens your eyes and adds a becoming touch of rose to your cheeks is irrelevant. But, when you draw in that harsh, little breath—yes, just like that—” he nodded approvingly, dropping his voice “—it reminds me of the sound you made when I was fucking you, and you were just about to come.”