فصل 25

CHAPTER 25

It was several hours later, and Hal was walking the grounds in the growing dusk, trying to work out what the hell to do. Her sense of intrepid Robin Hood daring had completely vanished, and she felt only a growing panic, swelling inside her, threatening to suffocate her.

Abel had tried to take her aside after the tea and talk to her, but she had broken away, unable to take his well-meaning concern. The pats on the arm, the platitudes, the overaffectionate hugs, they were all making her feel stifled, and she had made an excuse about feeling tired and wanting to go up to her room, and he had let her go.

When she had got up there, though, the feeling of suffocation had only increased, and she lay in the narrow metal cot, with the bars looming over her like a prison cell. She could not stop thinking about the bolts on the door, and the tiny, crabbed HELP ME on the glass of the window. What had happened here? Why had her mother never mentioned this part of her life? Had something so terrible happened that she could not bear to talk about it?

In the end, she had got up and tiptoed quietly down the stairs, past the drawing room, where Mitzi was holding forth to her children about homework and revision, and out into the twilit garden.

Dew was falling, turning the grass silver in the light from the drawing room windows, and when she looked back up the hill she could see the trail she had left, and feel the wetness of her jeans, the damp seeping through her boots.

She walked without purpose or aim, until she found herself back at the copse of trees she had seen the first day, the one she had noticed before Abel pointed out the maze.

This time, she could see clearly through the trees the glimmer of water, and she made her way along the overgrown path, weaving past nettles and brambles, to the shore of a small lake. Once, she thought, it might have been a lovely spot. But now, with night falling and the winter coming, there was something terribly sad about it, the lake choked and peat-colored with rotting leaves, the shores impassable banks of black mud. In the center was a little island with a scraggle of trees and bushes, and across the other side was a dark shape, some kind of building, Hal thought, though her eyes struggled to make it out in the dim light.

She took off her glasses, polishing them to try to make out the shape better in the gloaming, when she heard a crack behind her and whipped around to see a tall figure silhouetted against the lights of the house.

“Who—” she managed, her heart thudding in her chest, and she heard a laugh, deep and amused.

“Sorry.” It was a man’s voice, and as the figure came closer, she scrabbled her glasses back on with shaking hands, and recognized the face. It was Edward. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s dinner—didn’t you hear the gong?” “How—” Hal found she was trembling, her shock out of all proportion to Edward’s looming presence on the dark path. “How did you kn-know I was here?” “I followed your footsteps in the dew. What on earth possessed you to come here? It’s a pretty depressing spot.” “I don’t know,” Hal said. Her heart in her chest was still thumping, but it was slowing. “I—I wanted a walk. I needed to get out.” “I’m not surprised,” Edward said. He put his hands in his pockets, digging for something, and for a minute Hal wondered what it was, but then he pulled out a cigarette, tapped his forefinger to his nose, and lit up. “Don’t tell Abel. He doesn’t like it.” The smoke drifted up, pale against the darkening sky, and Hal found herself wondering about this man. She had barely seen him since his appearance last night. What had he been doing?

“Shall we head up?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Slowly, though, I need to finish this.” He took another drag, and Hal began to pick her way back towards the lawn. It had grown much darker since she came down this way, and it was hard to see the path now. She felt a nettle swipe at her arm and winced, drawing in her breath with a hiss of pain.

“Bramble?” said Edward from behind her.

“Nettle,” Hal said briefly. She sucked at the side of her hand, feeling the bumps of the sting with her tongue. It was going to hurt.

“Ouch,” Edward said laconically, and Hal heard the crackle and flare of his cigarette as he inhaled.

“Tell me,” she said, more as a way of distracting herself from her stinging hand than from real curiosity, “what’s the building on the other side of the lake?” “Oh . . . it used to be a boathouse,” Edward said. “Back in the day. I doubt you could get a boat across the lake now, too weed-choked.” He threw his cigarette butt behind him, and Hal heard it sizzle as it made contact with the water, sinking into the murky depths. “It needs to be dredged. It stinks in the summer.” “I thought you never came here?” Hal asked in surprise. The words were out before she could think better of them, but Edward didn’t seem to have taken offense at her questioning. She heard him laugh, softly, behind her in the darkness.

“Bit of poetic license on Abel’s part. His mother did cut him off, you know. I think that for several years at least the whole ‘darken my doorstep’ stuff was quite real. But they had a bit of a rapprochement in recent years.” “People often mellow as they get older, don’t they,” Hal said carefully. They came out of the trees, and Edward fell into step beside her.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I don’t think that was it. The impression I got was that Hester had become, if anything, more unpleasant. But Abel . . . well, he’s an odd soul. Rather too forgiving for his own good. He can’t bear to feel there’s bad blood between himself and other people. He’d do almost anything—swallow any amount of insults, walk over hot coals, generally abase himself—rather than feel there’s animosity. It’s not his most attractive trait, but it does make for an easy life in some ways. The last few years he came down here quite a bit.” Hal was not sure what to say to that. The thought crossed her mind that Edward didn’t seem to like his partner very much. But perhaps it was just the effect of a long-term relationship.

As they crossed the lawn, Hal could see that the dining room was still shuttered and dark, and she was rather relieved when they reached the graveled path and Edward turned left, leading them along the façade to the conservatory she had seen earlier that day, and in through it to the room where they had eaten breakfast.

The others were waiting, Harding seated in the wing chair at the head of the table, Freddie slouched low in his seat, playing on his DS, and the other two children surreptitiously checking their phones under cover of the tablecloth. Mitzi was seated between Abel and a chair that had Edward’s jacket slung over the back of it, discussing her plans for the journey home. Only Ezra was not yet there.

Hal sat quietly in a spare place next to Richard and tried to disappear into the background, but she had scarcely pulled in her chair when the door to the conservatory opened and Mrs. Warren limped in holding a huge crock of stew.

“Oh, Mrs. Warren!” Mitzi said. She jumped up. “Let me help you.”

“ ’Let me help you,’ she says.” Mrs. Warren put on a mincing version of Mitzi’s cut-glass vowels. She banged the pot down on the table, thin gravy slopping onto the cloth. “Didn’t hear none of that when I spent all afternoon chopping.” “Mrs. Warren,” Harding said stiffly, “that was rather uncalled for. My wife was out attempting to sort out the business of my mother’s will, along with the rest of us. And if you feel the work of catering is too much for you, you have only to say and we’ll be glad to help you out.” “I’m not having strangers messing about in my kitchen,” Mrs. Warren retorted.

“Really, Mrs. Warren, we’re hardly strangers!” Harding snapped, but Mrs. Warren had turned and left the room. “For heaven’s sake, she’s becoming impossible!” The door banged shut.

“She’s very old, darling,” Mitzi said placatingly. “And she looked after your mother fairly devotedly. I think we can cut her a little slack on those grounds, don’t you?” “I agree, Mit, but we must begin to get our heads around the problem of what we do with—”

He broke off as Mrs. Warren came back in with a plate of baked potatoes, which she thumped down, and then turned to leave without a word.

Mitzi sighed, and beckoned to Freddie for his plate.

“Come on then, let’s get this served up before it goes cold.”

The stew was gray and unappetizing, and Freddie’s face, as his mother handed him back a plate of gnarled brown lumps and a watery wash of liquid, was dismayed.

“Urgh, Mum, this looks gross.”

“Well, it’s supper, Freddie, so you’ll have to manage. Take a baked potato,” Mitzi said. She took Kitty’s plate and began ladling. Kitty picked up a potato with her fingers, and pulled a face as she put it on the side of her plate.

“Those potatoes are rock-hard. They look like dinosaur eggs.”

“For goodness’ sake!” Mitzi snapped. She put a plate down in front of Richard and then began to help Edward.

“I must say, it does smell a little unappetizing,” Edward ventured as she passed the plate to him. He took a piece of meat—beef, was Hal’s guess, though it could have been anything from mutton to venison—and chewed cautiously. “Do you think I dare ask for some mustard?” He spoke around the lump in his mouth.

“Personally, I wouldn’t risk it,” Abel said. He was sawing at his meat with rather grim determination, and he put a piece in his mouth, grimacing slightly. “It’s actually not too bad,” he managed.

“What did I miss?” The voice came from the doorway, and Hal turned to see Ezra standing there, shoulder propped against the doorframe.

“Oh, it’s you,” Harding said, rather sourly. “How nice of you to deign to join us.”

“I didn’t miss much, judging by Abel’s face,” Ezra said. He pulled the chair out next to Hal and sat down, resting his tanned forearms on the table. “So. What’s for supper then?” “Gray vomit and dinosaur eggs,” Kitty said with a giggle.

“Kitty!” Harding thundered. “I’m thoroughly fed up with you today.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Harding.” Mitzi slammed a plate in front of him. “Leave the child alone. It’s not her fault you’re in a foul mood.” “I am not in a foul mood,” Harding snarled. “I am simply asking for basic manners at the dinner table.” “Look, Mrs. Warren is very old, and she’s done her best,” Abel began, but Ezra interrupted him.

“Oh, give it a rest, Abel. The girl’s right. Mrs. Warren’s cooking has always been terrible; it’s just that as kids, we only had boarding school dinners to compare it to, so we didn’t realize quite how bad it was. Harding’s lot are lucky enough to have higher standards of comparison.” Hal’s bowl had made its way down to her, and she poked cautiously at the gray lump of meat, and abandoned the stew in favor of the baked potato. The skin was wrinkled, but when she sliced into it, she could feel the middle was raw.

“Well, I’m not eating it,” Kitty said firmly. She pushed her plate away. “I saw Mum buying Hobnobs in Penzance today.” • • •

THERE WAS NO DESSERT, BUT after dinner they made their way through to the drawing room, where a lukewarm pot of coffee stood on a table in front of the fire. Mitzi left the room and returned with three packets of biscuits, which she opened up and distributed. Her children fell on them like starving orphans. Hal picked out a chocolate digestive and dipped it into the cup of coffee Edward poured for her. The taste, as she put the crumbling corner in her mouth, was pure home, and for a moment she was transported back to her childhood, to Sunday mornings in her mother’s bed, surreptitiously dipping cookies into her mother’s morning coffee.

“Are you all right, Harriet?” Mitzi’s voice broke into her thoughts. “You looked very pensive there, for a moment.” Hal swallowed her mouthful, then forced a smile.

“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“I found out something about Hal today,” Ezra said unexpectedly, from the other side of the room. He picked up his coffee and sipped it, his eyes resting on Hal as he swallowed. “Something she’s been keeping rather quiet.” Hal looked up, startled, and felt her heart speed up a little. She went back over the conversation in the car, the things she had said about her mother. Had she let something slip? Her hand, as she set the coffee cup down on its saucer, shook a little, so that the china rattled together with a tinkling sound.

“What’s that?” she managed at last.

“Oh . . . I think you know, Hal,” Ezra said. There was mischief in his smile. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell them.” This is it, Hal thought. He knows. He’s found something out, and he is giving me a chance to confess before he tells them about my past.

“You’re right,” Hal said. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “There is—there is something I didn’t tell you. Uncle Harding—I—” Ezra put something down on the coffee table between them.

It was a tin of Golden Virginia tobacco.

Hal felt the blood rush to her face as she realized her mistake, the huge blunder she had almost just made.

“Harriet is a tarot reader,” Ezra said. “Aren’t you, Hal?”

“Oh!” Mingled relief and anticlimax flooded through her. She felt a strong desire to laugh. “I didn’t realize that’s what you were going to— Yes. It’s true.” “A tarot reader?” Mitzi exclaimed. She clapped her hands. “But how exotic! Harriet, whyever didn’t you tell us?” “I don’t know,” Hal said truthfully. “I suppose . . . some people are a little bit odd about it.” She thought back to Mrs. Warren, the fury that had boiled up in her face when she saw the cards.

“You know,” Abel said, “you know . . . it’s funny. I would never have thought Maud’s daughter would end up doing something like that. She was terribly skeptical.” Hal glanced up at him, but there was nothing combative in his tone or expression. His face was only a little sad, as if remembering back to happier times.

“She was . . . well, I’m sure you know this better than we do, but she was a very rational person,” he continued. “She had no time for what I think she would have called ‘bullshit.’ Sorry, Harriet,” he added hastily, patting her arm. “I don’t mean that to sound as rude as it probably comes across. I hope I haven’t offended you.” “It’s okay,” Hal said. She smiled, almost in spite of herself. “I’m not offended. And actually . . . I don’t really believe in it myself.” “Really?” Mitzi said, her voice slightly doubtful. “How does that work, then? Don’t you feel guilty taking people’s money if you think it’s all rubbish?” Hal felt her cheeks flush. She rarely admitted this to people she didn’t know—certainly never to clients. It felt like a doctor admitting that he had no faith in conventional medicine, or a psychiatrist dissing Freud.

“That probably sounded more cynical than I meant it to—but . . . I’m not superstitious. I don’t believe in knocking on wood, or crossing fingers, or crystal gazing, or any of that. I don’t think the cards have any special occult power, though I’m not sure I’d say that outright to a client. But they do . . .” She found herself struggling to articulate something she rarely dissected, even to herself. “They do still have meaning—even if you know nothing about tarot, you can see the richness of the symbolism and the imagery. The ideas they represent . . . they’re universal forces that bear on all our lives. I suppose what I believe is not that the cards can tell you anything you don’t already know, or that they have magical answers to your questions, but that they give you . . . they give you the space to question . . . ? Does that make sense? Whether the statements I make in a reading are true or false, they give the sitter an opportunity to reflect on those forces, to analyze their instincts. I don’t know if I’m explaining this right.” But Mitzi was nodding, a frown drawn between her neat brows.

“Yeees . . .” she said slowly. “Yes, I can see that.”

“So will you do one?” Kitty asked. She sat up, her eyes wide with anticipation. “Do me! Oh please, do me first!” “Kitty,” Mitzi scolded. “Harriet is not at work.”

“Nonsense,” Ezra said. He grinned across at Hal. “She didn’t have to bring her cards, did she?” Hal folded her arms, uncomfortably unsure what to say. After all, it was true. She had chosen to bring her cards, those cards in particular. But she didn’t want to give a reading, not here, not now, with these cards. For reading the cards was revealing—and not only for the client. Hal knew that she gave away almost as much about herself in the remarks she made as she found out about her clients.

But Kitty was looking at her pleadingly, her hands clasped with anticipation, and Hal didn’t have the heart to refuse, or the skill to do it gracefully, in this house where she was a guest.

“Okay,” she said at last. “I’ll do one for you, Kitty.”

“Awesome!” Kitty said excitedly. “What do you need? Do you need a special table or anything?” Hal shook her head.

“No, an ordinary table is just fine. Sit opposite me.”

Kitty knelt on the rug opposite, and Hal opened the tin, and drew out her cards.

“Oooh . . .” Kitty breathed, as Hal spread them on the table. Her eyes darted from one card to another: the two of wands . . . the Hermit . . . the queen of cups . . . “What’s that one?” she asked, pointing at the Star.

“This one?” Hal picked it up. In her deck, the Star was a woman bathing in a forest pool at night, pouring water over herself beneath the light of the stars. It was a beautiful card, serene and tranquil. “It’s the Star,” Hal said. “It means . . . renewal of faith, peace, communing with yourself, serenity. Or reversed, it means the opposite—discouragement, dwelling on the bad things in life.” “And what about this one?” Kitty pointed towards a card at the edge of the deck. It showed a girl crawling across a snowy landscape. Snowflakes fell from a dark sky, their tranquility a sharp contrast to the scene below, where the young woman was poised in her endless struggle. Her bloodied fingers had scored deep grooves in the snow as she dragged herself towards some unseen goal, and in her back were nine daggers, each of a different kind, some long, some short, some polished with finely wrought hilts, others no better than wooden stakes. The tenth, a piece of glass, or perhaps ice, was in her own hand.

“That’s the ten of swords,” Hal said. She knew the card off by heart, but now she picked it up, studying it afresh, before turning it so that Kitty could better see the image. It was one of the darkest cards in the pack, and it was one that always made Hal flinch a little when it came up in a reading. “It means . . . betrayal, backstabbing, ending . . . but it can also mean that an ordeal is coming to a close. That you’ll be given peace, though the price may not be one you want to pay.” “Because she’s going to die, you mean?” Kitty’s eyes were wide.

“On the card, yes,” Hal said. “But you shouldn’t take them literally. Now . . .” She picked up the cards, shuffled them together. “I’m going to spread the deck out facedown, and then ask you to choose ten cards. Don’t touch the cards—just show me with your finger.” There was something comforting in the familiar ritual. Hal could do a Celtic Cross reading almost in her sleep, and as she laid the cards out and ran through the familiar commands and explanations she always used, she felt her own mind clear.

It was true what she had told Mitzi. She didn’t believe in anything mystical, but she did believe in the power of the cards to reveal something about the querent, both to the reader and to the sitter themselves.

She didn’t ask Kitty what her question was, but she knew from her bright, blushing face what it would be—something about a boy, no doubt. Or maybe a girl. There was no fear in Kitty’s face, no doubt or desperation, as there was when people were asking questions about life or death, about the safety of a child, or the health of a parent.

To Kitty, this was just a bit of fun. He loves me, he loves me not. And that was as it should be, at her age.

When they came to the final card of the reading, the “outcome” card, Hal turned it over, and saw that it was the Lovers, upright, a naked man and woman entwined, his hand upon her breast, bathed in sunlight. And she knew immediately, from the scarlet blush that mounted up Kitty’s neck and flushed her cheeks, that she had been right.

“This card,” Hal said, smiling in spite of herself, so infectious was Kitty’s embarrassed delight, “this card represents the outcome—it’s the overriding card of the whole reading, and it’s the closest that the cards come to a direct answer to your question. You have chosen the Lovers—a trump card, one of the strongest in the deck. And it means love. Love and union and relationships. What this card is saying, here, in this position, is there will be love and, yes, happiness in your future. I see a very important relationship, one that will be very dear to you, and bring you much joy. But,” something made her add, looking at Mitzi’s suddenly rather pursed mouth, “this card also means choice—the choice between right and wrong, the high road and the low. This card shows the balance between all the different forces in your life, and indicates the importance of choosing the right course—one that will keep all those forces in their proper proportions. Romantic love is just one element—and it won’t always lead you right. You must be careful not to let it dominate everything else in your life. Satisfaction from other sources—work, or family, for example—is just as important, and can bring you just as much happiness. And what this card is telling me is that you will always be loved—” She swallowed for a moment, thinking of Mitzi and Harding and the warm cocoon of security wrapped around their children. “You will always have someone there for you. You can strike out into the world, secure in that love, secure that love will find you.” She stopped, and there was a short pause, and then a little round of applause from the others.

“What a lovely reading, Harriet,” Mitzi said. Kitty was pink and radiant, and Hal was suddenly pleased that she had agreed to do this.

“Anyone else?” she said, almost jokingly, and she was surprised when Abel grinned and put up his hand.

“Go on,” he said. “Do me.”

Hal looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was getting on for ten, and Kitty’s reading had taken longer than she had realized.

“Okay,” she said. “But I’ll do you a quicker version of the reading—the Celtic Cross takes rather a long time. This one is simpler, it’s called a three-card spread. You can use it in lots of different ways, to answer a question, or to feel your way through a dilemma, or even to explore your past lives, if you believe in that sort of thing, but for now let’s just do a past, present, future reading. That’s nice and simple—it’s a reading people often begin with when they’re starting out.” She shuffled the cards, and again went through the familiar patter—asking Abel to think of a question, getting him to cut the cards and choose just three this time. Then she laid them out, facedown—past, present, future—and waited for a moment, gathering her thoughts, listening to the hush that had descended on the room, the crackle of the fire, the sound of the wind in the chimney, and the tick, tick of the clock on the mantel.

At last, when her thoughts were still and clear, Hal turned the first one, the past card. There was a moment when the watchers circled around, all crowded in to look—and then a ripple of laughter broke out, as they recognized the image from Kitty’s reading. It was the Lovers. Hal smiled, but she shook her head.

“I know what you’re thinking—that this is the same card that Kitty drew, and that I’ll say the same things, but this is inverse—you’ve drawn it upside down.” “What does that mean?” Abel asked. Hal watched him looking at the card, trying to read his reaction. It was hard to decipher, but she thought there was something a little mocking about it. His mouth was serious, but compressed as if he were hiding a smile. Hal didn’t mind people who didn’t take the readings seriously—she didn’t like hostility, but amusement was fine. Now she frowned, looking at the image, trying to clarify her thoughts and crystallize them into words.

“You heard me talk to Kitty about the fact that the Lovers represent choice,” she began. “Well, this is a card full of stark opposites—male and female, sky and earth, the fire of the sun and water of the river behind them, the high road of the mountain and the low road of the valley. In the past you’ve had a choice—and a pretty stark one. It was a crossroads in your life—a decision where you . . .” She paused, seeing Abel’s hands tighten, his fingers going to a ring on the fourth finger of his right hand, heard the slight clearing of his throat showing she had touched on a nerve. He twisted the ring as she continued. “I think perhaps it was to do with . . . a relationship? You made your choice, and at the time it seemed like the right, the only decision . . . but now—” She stopped, suddenly realizing the dangerous path this reading was leading her down.

Abel’s expression had lost its mocking amusement, and behind him, Hal saw Edward stir uneasily; she bit her lip, wondering if she had already said too much.

To cover the moment of confusion, Hal turned over the next card. It was the ten of swords, and Hal saw Abel push his chair back a little from the table, cross his legs defensively. Something was very wrong here—she could feel the tension emanating from him, and she knew she had to tread carefully, for she had stumbled on something she didn’t understand and it was in danger of blowing up in her face.

“This . . . this is the present,” she said slowly. “The problem you’re wrestling with at the moment. It concerns . . . a betrayal—” She broke off. Abel had stood up and pushed past her, not waiting for the end of the reading.

“I’m sorry, Hal,” he flung over his shoulder, “but I don’t think I can do this.”

The drawing room door slammed shut behind him.

“Oh God.” It was Edward, his face white and anguished. He shot a look at Hal, something between anger and upset. “Thank you very much,” he said, and then yanked Abel’s chair out of the way and ran after his partner into the hallway. “Abel!” Hal heard from far down the corridor as his feet receded. “Abel, come back!” Mitzi looked first at Ezra, then Harding, and blew out a long breath.

“Oh dear.”

“What?” Hal looked around the circle of faces, dismay rising in her. “What did I say?”

“You weren’t to know, Harriet,” Mitzi said. She got up, and picked up the chair that Edward had toppled in his haste to follow Abel. “Although quite why Abel reacted like that I don’t know. . . .” “What Hal said was completely general,” Ezra said. “If Al hadn’t reacted like a hysterical teenager—” “Go to bed, children,” Mitzi said firmly. There was a chorus of protest from Richard, Kitty, and Freddie, which she quelled by adding, “Just this once, you can take your phones up with you. I’ll come to collect them at lights out. Go!” She waited until the children had left the room, dragging their feet, and then shut the door behind them and turned to Hal.

“Harriet, I wouldn’t normally gossip about this, but I think at this point it’s better that you know. As far as I understand it, Abel proposed marriage to Edward last year, but then . . .” She faltered and looked across at Harding, who threw up his hands as if to say Don’t look at me! You started this.

“But then it turned out Edward had been fucking some woman for about four years,” Ezra finished, rather brutally. “There. I’ve said it. That is what happened, isn’t it?” Mitzi nodded, rather sadly.

“Yes, that’s my understanding too. I had a rather confused conversation with Edward about it last year when he was drunk, where he tried to represent it as some sort of wild oats, but really of course the time for all that is well past. It’s one thing to do that sort of thing as an eighteen-year-old, quite different when you’re a fortysomething man in a long-term relationship. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I think they went through a really very rocky time. I had thought it was all sorted out, but evidently this brought up some painful memories. You weren’t to know, Harriet.” “Oh no,” Hal said wretchedly. She put her head in her hands. “I’m so sorry. I wish I hadn’t done this.” “It was my fault,” Ezra said. He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have asked you to read. I’m sorry, Hal.” “You keep calling her that,” Mitzi said lightly. Her effort to change the subject was a little forced and obvious, but Hal welcomed it nonetheless. She held out the tin, and Hal gathered the cards together and slipped them inside. “Is it a nickname?” “Yes,” Hal said. “It—it’s what my mother used to call me.”

“You must miss her enormously,” Mitzi said. She put out a hand, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Hal’s ear. To her horror, Hal felt tears welling up inside her. She turned away, pretending to search for a stray card, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in her throat and blinking away the swimming tears in her eyes.

“I—I do—” she managed. Her voice was croaky, despite her efforts.

“Oh, Hal, darling, come here,” Mitzi said. She held out her arms, and almost in spite of herself, Hal found herself swept into a hug.

It was incredibly alien—Mitzi’s slim, wiry frame, no taller than Hal’s own; the scent of her perfume and hair spray strong in Hal’s nostrils; the painful impression of her chunky necklace against Hal’s ribs. But there was something so simple, so instinctually maternal about the gesture, that she could not bring herself to break away.

“I just wanted to say,” Mitzi whispered into her ear, not trying to hide what she was saying, but meaning it for Hal rather than for general discussion, “that you were a complete darling to say what you did earlier, about the deed of variation. Whatever you decide—and you mustn’t let yourself get swept up in all this nonsense, or to feel responsible for what your grandmother did—it was very noble of you to think of it.” “Thank you,” Hal managed. Her throat felt stiff and hoarse, and she let her fingers rest on Mitzi’s shoulders, half wanting to free herself, half unable to stop herself from hugging her back.

“We aren’t going to let you disinherit yourself,” Mitzi said sternly, as she released Hal. “There is no question of that. And regardless of what happens, you have a family now, so don’t you forget it.” Hal nodded, forcing a smile, in spite of the tears that still threatened to fall. And then she picked up the tin full of cards, made her excuses, and escaped up the stairs to bed.

11th December, 1994

My aunt knows. I don’t know how—but she knows. Did Maud tell her? It seems impossible—I’m as certain as I can be that she wouldn’t say anything, not after her promise. Lizzie, perhaps? From the way she looks at me I have a horrible feeling she may be putting two and two together. But I can’t believe . . .

In the end, it doesn’t really matter. She has found out.

She came to my room as I was getting ready for bed, bursting in without knocking.

“Is it true?”

I was half-undressed, and I clasped my shirt to my chest, trying to cover my swollen breasts and stomach, under pretense of shyness. I shook my head, pretending I didn’t know what she meant, and she drew back her hand and slapped me, making my head jerk backwards, leaving my ears ringing and my cheek flaming with the shock of the smack. The shirt fell to the floor, and I saw her looking at me, at my changed body, and her lip curled, as she realised she didn’t need to ask the question.

“You disgusting little slut. I took you in, and this is how you pay me back?”

“Who told you?” I said bitterly. I picked up the shirt and put it back on, wincing against the stinging pain in my cheek.

“That’s none of your business. Who is he?” she demanded, and when I didn’t answer straightaway, she grabbed my shoulders and shook me like a rat, making my teeth rattle. “Who’s the boy who did this?” she shouted.

I shook my head again, trying not to cringe away from her fury, trying not to show my fear. My aunt has always intimidated me—but I had never seen her like this, and suddenly I understood how Maud hated her so much.

“I w-won’t t-tell you,” I managed, though it was hard to speak. I can’t let her know. Her anger would be unspeakable and I would never see him again.

She stared down at me for a long moment, and then she turned on her heel.

“I can’t trust you. You’ve shown that. You’ll stay in your room and I will have supper brought up to you. You can stay here and think about what you have done and the shame you’ve brought on this family.” She slammed the door shut, and I heard a kind of scraping sound, as if someone were scratching something across the top and bottom of the door. It took me a minute to understand, and even when the truth dawned on me, it was with a kind of cold disbelief. Was she—was she locking me in?

“Aunt Hester?” I said, and then as I heard her heels click away down the corridor, I ran to the door, rattling the handle, banging on it with my fists. It didn’t open. “Aunt Hester? You can’t do this!” But there was no answer. If she heard me, she said nothing.

Still in disbelief, I tried to force the door, leaning against it with all my strength, but the bolts held.

“Maud!” I screamed. “Lizzie?”

I waited. There was no answering call, only the slam of a door. I wasn’t sure which one, but I thought it could be the door at the foot of the attic stairs. A sense of complete hopelessness stole over me as I realised. It was almost eight. Lizzie would have gone home, long since. And Maud—I don’t know where she was. In bed? Downstairs? Either way, it wasn’t likely my voice would carry all the way through two sets of doors, and down the maze of corridors of this rambling house.

I didn’t call for Mrs Warren. There would be no point in that. Even if she heard, she wouldn’t come.

I went to the window, looking out between the bars into the quiet, moonlit night—its tranquillity a terrible contrast to my raw throat and my fingers, bruised from hammering.

And a realisation came over me.

I am trapped. I am completely trapped. She could send Maud away to school, sack Lizzie, and keep me here for . . . for how long? For as long as she wants—that’s the truth. She could keep me until the baby comes. Or she could starve me until I lose it.

The truth of this makes something inside me turn weak and soft with fear. I should be strong—strong for myself and strong for my child. But I am not. This house hides secrets, I know that now. I’ve been here long enough to hear the stories, of the unhappy maid who hung herself in the scullery, and the little boy who drowned in the lake.

My aunt is someone. And I am no one. I have no friends here. How easy it would be to say that I simply . . . left. Ran away in the night. No one would raise a fuss. Maud might ask questions, but Mrs Warren would swear to have seen me leave, I’m sure of it.

If she chooses to, she can simply lock the door and throw away the key. And there would be nothing I could do.

I sank to my knees by the window, the moonlight flooding the room, and I put my hands to my face, feeling the wetness of tears, and the cool hardness of the ring I still wear, my mother’s engagement ring. It’s a diamond—just a very small one. And as I knelt there in the moonlight, something came to me, a desire to leave a mark, however small, something she cannot erase, no matter what she does to me.

I took off the ring, and very slowly I scratched upon the glass, watching the moonlight illuminate the letters like white fire. HELP . . . ME . . .