The Edge of the Fall

The
EDGE
of
the
FALL

KATE WILLIAMS

PEGASUS BOOKS

NEW YORK LONDON

The de Witt Family and their Circle

Rudolf de Witt – father of the de Witt family and owner of Stoneythorpe

Verena de Witt – Rudolf's wife, daughter of the late Lord and Lady Deerhurst

Arthur de Witt – their oldest child, returned from Paris

Michael de Witt (
deceased
) – youngest son of the de Witt's

Emmeline de Witt – eldest daughter of Rudolph and Verena, married to Samuel Janus

Celia de Witt – the de Witt's youngest daughter

Samuel Janus – Emmeline's husband, former summer tutor to Celia

Tom Cotton – former assistant groom to the de Witts, soldier during the Great War

Mrs Cotton – his mother, a former servant of the family

Mary and Missy Cotton – Tom's sisters

Jonathan Corrigan – Michael's university friend, from New York

Stanley Smithson – footman

John Thompson – footman

Jennie Christmas – parlourmaid

Rufus Sparks – university friend of Mr Janus

Jemima Webb – university friend of Mr Janus and political campaigner

Lady Deerhurst – sister to Verena, mother to Matthew and Louisa

Matthew Deerhurst – Verena's nephew and Celia's cousin, in India

Louisa Deerhurst – Verena's niece and Celia's cousin

Heinrich de Witt – Rudolf's cousin

Lotte de Witt – Heinrich's wife

Johann and Hilde de Witt – children of Heinrich and Lotte de Witt

‘It really is beautiful,' she said, raising her voice over the wind.

They were walking along the cliffs, not too far from their guest house in Margate, and they had the place almost to themselves, a stretch of surprising green, then hundreds of daisies tipping right to the edge. The air was exhilarating, whipping her hair out from its style, throwing her skirt against her legs. ‘I do love it here.' She squeezed his arm. ‘How clever of you to find it.' It was astonishing, really, to remember how during the war they'd thought places like the cliffs dangerous. The sea in front of them stretched out for miles, so bright it hurt her eyes.

She linked her arm in through his, leant her head on his shoulder, reaching a little since he was so much taller than her. She felt him tense, nestled her head closer. Things were so difficult for him. He'd suffered greatly before he'd met her. His family had been cruel. Yet she knew that, with patience and her generosity, he'd come through. In a sense it was actually rather easy, there was so much advice in magazines for women like her on how to help damaged men, even though the advice was about war and Arthur had been in Paris the whole time. You listened with quiet, sympathetic understanding and if he spoke, you were to repeat back precisely the same words, reflect, empathise, love. You didn't have to have been at the Somme to suffer, she wanted to say to him. She felt the warmth of his arm on hers, wished she could fold herself into the whole of him. The families behind them with their ice cream, the old people arm in arm, all seemed miles away.

They walked together, more slowly now because her head was on his shoulder. The sky was the colour of a paint she'd once had
as a child, the blue of a baby's eyes. She heard the word in her mind.
Baby
. She hugged the idea tight to herself, like a present. She would think about that later; right now her every thought was about
him
, so that even though they weren't speaking, he would be able to sense it, feel her affection, her devoted kindness. His shoulder was softening.

‘You can't see anything but sea for miles,' she said. After all that time of hiding away, of having to pretend not to walk together, of stowing themselves in the dark corners of restaurants, those nights that she spent alone, sitting at her window, dressed in the gowns she'd bought, wondering whether he might come. Now they were together, walking openly. She couldn't believe, really, how generous he'd been to her over the past few days.

Yesterday, at a flower stall, right in the centre of town, he'd suddenly turned to her and said, ‘Which ones would you like?' She had been confused, blushed – it was so unfamiliar – pointed at a few pink sweet peas. He'd smiled, demanded four bunches of them, then gardenias, daisies, dahlias and some beautiful flowers that were dozens of pale pink ruffles with darker pink at the edges. ‘Any amount,' he said. ‘Whatever you'd like. Have whatever you want, my love. My dear.' By the end of her choosing – for every time she stopped, he encouraged her to go on, take more – they had a bunch of flowers almost bigger than her torso.

The woman had arranged them, gathering up the stems, holding them together as she tied the whole thing up with skein, then a pink ribbon she chose. He handed over dozens of notes (the flowers must have been terribly costly, sent from other countries, surely), then popped the flowers in her hands. ‘For you, my darling,' he said. A small crowd had gathered by then and at that one of them began applauding. Another man whooped. She heard two women sigh. ‘Lucky girl,' one said. And she was. She was a
lucky
girl. For the rest of that day, her face had been as pink as the flowers. The colour of happiness; pleasure. That night, in the hotel restaurant, he wouldn't let the waiter pull out her chair. ‘That's my job,' he said. ‘I must look after my wife.'

Wife!
she thought. The word he never used, the word he said
they never should use. ‘Our relationship isn't to be defined by words,' he'd said. ‘It is too special.'
Never mention me
. Keep us free of words, for words
sully
, make us of the world, and we are
free
.

‘Those flowers were so lovely,' she said to him. ‘No one's ever done something like that for me. Thank you.'

He let her squeeze his arm. That's how she knew he was agreeing with her, that inside his head he was saying:
I love you. I will always love you
.

‘I'm so fortunate to have you.' The women in her head talked to her.
Lucky girl!

‘It was nothing,' he said, his voice quick and low. She smiled, wanted to hold him. He was like a little boy, embarrassed by the great gift he had given.

‘What would you like to do tonight, Arthur?' She almost said the word
husband
, then shied away. ‘Shall we go to the hotel restaurant once more?'

He shrugged. ‘Perhaps.' Then he manoeuvred her with her arm, towards the sea. ‘You're right,' he said. ‘It
is
beautiful. Why don't we go closer?'

‘Closer?'

‘To the sea. It's very handsome, as you say. You can see how the romantics thought this kind of place was the most beautiful.'

‘I wouldn't want to go too close.' His passion for touching close to the edge of things.

He patted her arm. ‘Dear girl! Don't worry yourself. I'm here to look after you.'

She held on to his arm. ‘Of course you are. You're always here for me.'

He steered her closer. The grass was crisp, untouched, she thought. ‘Look at it from here,' he said, a half foot or so from the edge. ‘Don't you feel free, looking out like this?'

She clutched his arm. Directly below them the sea wasn't calm at all but slashing at the cliffs. The spray surged up towards them. The rocks were uneven, jagged.
Don't look
. She closed her eyes, but all she could see were fragments of stone tumbling down into the
water. Once upon a time, the cliffs must have been miles further out to sea, but they had receded, collapsed into nothing and taken everything down with them. She held tight to him, forced herself to open her eyes.

‘Such wild beauty,' he said.

‘Oh yes.' She didn't want him to see that she was afraid. She'd told him she'd never liked being high up, right from being a little girl. He must have forgotten. She felt she was swaying a little. Think of something else, she told herself. Her great, magnificent bunch of flowers, spread out between three vases (as there was no single one big enough) in their bedroom. She fixed her mind on their delicate pinks, tried to hold her body still. She turned back, saw a man and a woman, arm in arm, sauntering towards them. They reminded her: this was all normal. A perfectly nice summer's day. This was what couples
did
. Then she looked down again and her stomach lurched.

He shuffled closer to the edge –
only an inch from the side
! She held back, the space between their arms greater. ‘I love the sea air in my face,' he said. ‘Can you feel the spray?'

‘Oh yes!'

‘Are you quite sure?'

‘Oh yes, my dear.'

He brought up a finger, touched her cheek. ‘It's quite dry. Let me help you step forward.'

‘Oh, I'm fine here.' She wanted to pull him back to her.

He turned to face her, making her spin, forcing her to push her feet hard into the grass to stay still. ‘Don't tell me you're
afraid
. I won't believe it.'

‘I'm never afraid with you!'

‘Well, let me hold you then. Come along. I will hold you, keeping your waist, and you can move forward.'

She shook her head. The couple she'd seen were coming closer. The woman wore a stylish hat. The man looked familiar somehow. She couldn't quite see his face, but there was something about his outline, his walk.

‘Come now.' His eyes were darkening. ‘Don't be foolish.'

She looked at him. She had to do as he said, she could see. She had to move the way he wanted to, prove it to him. He wanted to play the game again, like that time before. She had to let him.
It won't be long
, she told herself.
You just have to stand where he wants you to
,
let him hold you. In a minute, maybe less, it will be over
. All those things she did with her minutes, let them drift by as she gazed out of the window, tried and failed to read or embroider. This minute here would be nothing more than that. She had to trust him. She did trust him. He was her husband. She loved him!

‘Are you coming?'

‘Yes!' She gathered together all her strength, all her love, all her need for him, and stepped forward. In a moment, he was behind her, holding her tight at the waist. She was right on the edge. The water was churning below her, dizzying, sickly.
Stop
. She tried to stare out at the wide expanse of blue that had pleased her so much, could not.

‘See, my dear!' he said, content now. ‘You can admire the beauty of nature from here. Nothing brings you closer, does it?'

She looked up and the other man was coming closer. Who
was
he? She felt sure she knew him.

‘This is the way to see the grandeur of nature, its purity.' He was shouting now, voice into the wind.

She nodded weakly, trying to charge her mind, her every thought, into the soft, safe pressure of his hands on her waist. She closed her eyes again, thought of his fingers, their slightly dry flesh, the whorls on his thumbs, the delicate moons of his nails, the strength of his palms, holding her tight, safe.