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Below us, towering sea stacks stood like sentinels of awe and majesty guarding the colourless winter. Smooth boulders, worn ledges, jagged upturned rocks and crumbling cliffs lent texture and drama to the scene. The surf announced its arrival with a roar. Within that sound, I could sense the approach of another tide, this one a screaming torrent of danger. I had no desire to remain here and place myself in its path.
“London town it is then,” I said.
Seized with sudden, frenzied elation, Eddie picked me up and twirled me round until I was dizzy and gasping for breath.
“Don’t you see, Dita?” he asked, planting a smacking kiss on my cheek when he finally set me back on my feet. “I’ve faced my Jago demons and survived. I can go to London with a clear conscience. I think it’s going to be all right after all.”
* * *
I had been feeling unwell for a day or two. At first I put the general feeling of malaise that assailed me down to the strange atmosphere of the house, my guilt about my false engagement and my fears for Eddie’s well-being. That was even before I thought about Sandor’s rage when he arrived in Paris and found me gone. I woke one morning, however, feeling dizzy and shaky. But I was never ill. Telling myself not to be so feeble, I forced myself up and about. Eddie was full of plans for our journey to London, and I did my best to enter into his enthusiasm. As lunchtime approached, however, I could no longer ignore the pounding in my head and the fact that none of my limbs seemed to belong to me. Eddie and I joined Lucy and Eleanor in the parlour, and I was content to sit quietly, letting their conversation wash over me.
When Porter announced that lunch was ready, I rose to follow my companions into the dining room. The edges of my vision darkened abruptly, and the room began to spin wildly. I slid back into my seat. The next thing I knew, I was lying back on the elegant chaise while Lucy held a cold compress to my forehead.
“You fainted. No, don’t sit up—try to lie still. Could you be expecting a baby?” she asked bluntly, holding a glass of water to my lips. I shook my head. “Then you must see a doctor at once,” she informed me briskly. “There has been an outbreak of influenza locally, several of the servants have succumbed to it and I am told that it is a particularly nasty strain.”
I attempted to protest that I would be fine after an afternoon’s rest, but I felt too weak to be forceful, and she overruled me, anyway. Eddie carried me up to my room, and I clambered gratefully into bed. By the time the doctor arrived a few hours later, my head was aching, my throat was on fire and I was beset by alternating chills and heat that made me shiver violently.
“You are right, of course, my lady,” the doctor informed Lucy after he had examined me. “It is the same strain of flu that has half the county laid up.” He lowered his voice. “And Miss Varga here seems to have taken a bad dose. She’s young and healthy, no reason why she shouldn’t make a full recovery. But she will feel considerably worse before she begins to feel better, that much I can predict.” Horror stories of influenza outbreaks that killed thousands penetrated my tired brain. Doctor Munroe proceeded to issue a lengthy list of instructions for my care and promised to call again in the morning.
“But I have to get up,” I grumbled feebly. “We are travelling to London tomorrow.”
“Eddie must go without you,” Lucy explained in her calm voice. “You are in no fit state to travel.”
When Eddie came to see me later, he sat on the bed and studied my face with interest. “You look like shit, Dita,” he informed me cheerfully. I promptly burst into tears, surprising us both. When I had subsided weakly against his shoulder, exhausted from the effort of crying, he smoothed my hair gently, saying, “I wish I didn’t have to go, but my father tells me this wretched business won’t wait.”
“I want to go with you,” I gulped. “I don’t want to stay here without you. That was never part of this ridiculous plan.”
“I know,” he sighed. “This place is poison. It saps my strength. I’m sorry I have been so bloody since we got here. I was looking forward to getting away, to being able to plan what we should do next. But my mother is right—you can’t travel. You must stay here and rest. She’ll take care of you, and I’ll get back down here as often as I can. When you are well, we can talk more about getting away from Tenebris, maybe making London a permanent home. We could rent a house there, and be roommates once more instead of having to maintain this charade. It will be like Paris all over again.”
