Echoes in the Darkness by Jane Godman Page B

fast that I could not close the gap. My lungs were still not working to capacity after my bout of flu, so I did not attempt to call out to him. Instead, I tagged dutifully behind him, like a puppy after its master, struggling to hold my cloak in place against the biting cold. When Eddie reached the farthest point of the cliff top, I watched in horror as, without pausing, he leaned down and, with a hand on the grass simply vaulted over the brink. A scream rose to my lips, but it was whipped away by the playful wind. Dashing to the point where he had disappeared, I looked down over the arrowhead-shaped rim of the steep precipice. Eddie, instead of being dashed on the rocks below or engulfed by the swirling waves, was standing on a narrow rocky shelf a few feet below me. Although I was comforted to learn that he had not perished, I was, nevertheless, uneasy to see how precarious his current position was. His feet were mere inches from the edge and he gazed out at the granite ocean with a look of desolate yearning. Not wanting to startle him, I spoke his name quietly.
    He didn’t turn his head. “I always think this would be the perfect place from which to write ‘the end’ at the bottom of the page,” he said calmly. “If I stepped out now, Dita, into that perfect, waiting oblivion, would anyone care? Or even notice?”
    “I would notice,” I said, striving for an equally tranquil tone. “And I would care, Eddie. Because you are my friend, and I love you.”
    “But you don’t know me. Not really. Do people ever truly know each other, Dita? Or is life just one long, cruel masquerade?” He lifted his head to look up at me then, and his face appeared young and lost.
    “Can we continue this philosophical conversation somewhere warmer?” I asked through chattering teeth.
    He laughed and, clambering easily back up to the top of the cliff, came toward me. I tried to hide my relief. “Christ, Dita, we can’t have you relapsing, can we? Let’s go and see if Mrs Webster can rustle up a couple of mugs of rum punch.”
    “What happened, Eddie?” I scanned his face anxiously as we walked back to the house.
    “Oh, I listened patiently for a bit while they told me what a mess I was making of things in London. I’m too easily swayed, apparently, not a strong enough character to stamp my authority on affairs. When my father suggested I should spend more time with Cad to get an idea of how he did things, I lost my temper somewhat.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’d forgotten how quick Cad’s reflexes are. I’ll never know how he avoided that decanter, but it missed his head by half a whisker.”
    “You could have killed him.” I couldn’t tell him, of course, that the shock in my voice was caused, not by this evidence of his violent temper, but by the thought of a world without Cad.
    “I’m not that lucky,” he replied, the black mood lowering again abruptly. “It did make a mess of my father’s study wall, however, for which I daresay I should be sorry. I suppose it’s time to face the music.” We had reached the courtyard of Athal House, and Porter opened the door as we approached. He glanced fearfully at Eddie’s face as we passed. “Fear not, Porter,” Eddie told him jovially. “I’ve decided not to make any more attempts on my brother’s life. Well, not today, anyway.”
    I got ready for the evening meal with a sense of dread. But I need not have feared. Eddie appeared to have made his peace with Tynan and was at his most charming. Cad did not put in an appearance at all, having made arrangements, Lucy informed us, to dine with a friend. When I closed my curtains that night before retiring to bed, I could see flickering candlelight in the gatehouse window, and I wondered who the friend was. Perhaps Cad preferred the company of the anonymous corset wearer to the drama of Jago family life. I would not admit, even to myself, how much the thought hurt.
    Eddie left for London again early the next day,