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“Neither Karol nor Miss Cadwallader will be leaving Tenebris anytime soon,” Eddie said, echoing my earlier thoughts. I sighed. I would have to tolerate Sandor’s brooding watchfulness and Vicky’s giddy attempts to ensnare Cad for even longer. “In fact, it seems likely that they will be at Athal House for the entire festive season.”
“Will this weather hinder the police in their attempts to find out what happened to Nellie Smith?” I asked. I felt him draw away from me slightly.
“These murders sicken me.” His voice throbbed with emotion. “I’m so afraid, Dita. This place is evil, yet it is mine and it claims me. How can I hate what it makes me into and yet love it at the same time?”
Chapter Eleven
It is a nothing, lightless moon that turns the red-brick walls black and transforms the shallow doorway where he stands into a deep, dark cave. Drunken shouts and curses ring out from the tavern over the road. Hooves ring loud on the cobbles and a train drums steadily by.
This one is a beauty with her pearly skin, curls that tumble to her waist and a body that would make any man’s heart sing. In his case, she also makes his knife hand throb. He cocks his head, waiting to hear his master’s voice. It doesn’t come. But it matters not. He has to have this one. She is all his. A reward for his continued obedience.
The girl is busy with a punter in the next doorway. The man is taking his time. His grunts and groans are becoming tiresome.
The girl clearly agrees. Her sigh is weary. “Get a move on, darlin’, do. I’m freezin’ me arse off here.” The words are less than encouraging, but they work like a charm. A howl of something close to pain signifies her troublesome customer has reached his climax at long last. Seconds later, she emerges from her trysting place.
He steps out in front of her, and, hands on her hips, she throws back her head. “Well, aren’t you the saucy one? Was you waitin’ for me to be done? And you such a fine, handsome gent! Come on then, lover, I know a little place down by the railway line.” She grabs his arm and, laughing, leads him to her death.
* * *
Christmas was known as Nadelik in Cornwall and was celebrated in a traditional manner at Athal House. Lucy and Tynan scorned the fashionable additions to the festive season that had been introduced by the royal family. Their house was decorated with boughs of greenery, and a vast yule log burned faithfully in the fireplace. Eleanor taught me to say “Nadelik Lowen” and laughed delightedly at my accent. We gathered armfuls of ivy and hunted down some mystical fronds of mistletoe with which to adorn the doorways. I was aware of Sandor’s menacing presence and knew he was biding his time, furious at the delay that kept him at Tenebris. I was even more aware of Cad, but for very different reasons. Eddie appeared to sink deeper into his own private darkness with each passing day. I missed my friend and agonised about how to reach him and lift him out of the trough of his own despair.
Eleanor explained that one of the Athal traditions was the strange and mysterious celebration of Montol, which was held every year on the winter solstice, a few days before Christmas. Montol Eve saw a procession of masked and disguised locals—known as guisers—dancing through the narrow streets of the village in a parade that resembled an Italian carnival. This procession then wound its way to Tenebris, where a spectacular feast awaited the revellers.
The guisers, dressed in shabby black with tattered ribbons, known as “mock posh,” carried large, bell-shaped lanterns that turned the procession into a river of fire, designed to symbolise the death and rebirth of the sun. Leading the parade would be the Lord of Misrule. This was an Athal employee who was chosen by the drawing of lots to preside over the Montol ceremonies. For one night, masters and workers changed roles. The person who drew the longest lot enjoyed the powers of the King of Christmas and issued commands of a playful and ludicrous nature to his temporary subjects. Crowned with great solemnity, he had to make a solemn promise to act as the master of merry disport and madcap revelry. The Lord of Misrule had the power to command any of his subjects to do anything he asked, and they dared not disobey. His specific mission was to lead his followers along the path of dalliance, debauchery and delight. A modern-day Lord of Misrule fared considerably better than his predecessors. In the past, the lord’s throat had been cut on Montol Day as a sacrifice to the gods.
