* * *
* * *
For the next couple of weeks, Nina wore her resentment like an outer layer of clothing. She was sulky around her parents and short-tempered with me. I tried to talk to her about it, but she refused to discuss it, glaring at me fiercely when I made further stuttering attempts to apologize.
“This is my home” was all she’d say. “And my family. Just remember that.”
How could I possibly forget it? I was acutely aware of my position as a guest at Raven Hall. I had no family of my own to return to, and my once-happy childhood home was now inhabited by oblivious strangers. I was entirely dependent on the goodwill of Nina and her parents.
I spent hours alone, keeping out of Nina’s way, mostly playing my violin—it was the only way I knew to numb my fears and soothe my loneliness. One evening, a few days after Markus’s father’s visit, I was approaching the top of the stairs when I heard Markus answer the phone in the hall and say, “Ah, thanks for ringing me back, Caroline.” I retreated to my bedroom and shut myself in, my heart pounding. He might have a client called Caroline, I told myself—but deep down, I was convinced Markus and Leonora had decided I was no longer a suitable companion for Nina, and they were demanding my aunt come and collect me. And she would take me straight back to the children’s home; I was sure of it.
I cried myself to sleep that night. After everything I’d been through in the last couple of years—losing my parents and brother; being treated as a nuisance by my aunt—Raven Hall had felt like a haven, a second chance at having a happy life, of feeling safe. I couldn’t bear the thought of being sent away.
For days after that, I felt as though I were holding my breath, even though Caroline never did turn up to collect me. Leonora and Markus continued to behave quite normally toward me, but I knew the real decision lay with Nina, and she remained distant and uncommunicative.
In the end, it was Jonas who mended our friendship.
It was a particularly warm morning in early August, and Nina and I were finishing our breakfasts—without conversation—in the dining room, when we glimpsed a blur of movement through the window: Jonas arriving on his bike.
“I’m desperate for a swim,” he said when we went out to meet him on the gravel. “Are you two friends again, now?” He’d joined us swimming a couple of days earlier, but Nina’s constant sniping at me had driven him to go home early.
I dropped my gaze and waited to hear Nina’s answer.
“I expect Beth would rather stay in the house,” Nina said. She gave me a pointed look. “In my house, that is.” She turned back to Jonas. “But I’ll come.”
I stepped back, ready to leave them to it, my mind already drifting to my violin and the music I would play to distract myself from the world around me. But Jonas’s irritation was clear.
“Fine. Well, Beth, in that case—would you write down your new address for me?”
“What?” Nina said. “She’s not going anywhere.”
Jonas pulled a face. “Well, I doubt she’ll be happy to stay here much longer if you keep treating her like this.”
My heart jumped erratically. How was Nina going to react?
She turned slowly and stared at me. It was probably the first time she’d looked me directly in the eye since I told her I’d pretended to be her for her grandfather’s visit.
“I honestly don’t want to take your place,” I said meekly. “I never meant to—”
She gulped, and then she flung her arms around me.
“I know,” she sobbed. “And I don’t want you to leave. I’ve been really horrible. I was jealous of you getting to meet my grandfather, but I know it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. I’m sorry, Beth. I’m sorry.”
Jonas sighed loudly. “Girls.” He raised his eyebrows. “Are we going swimming, then, or what?”
Nina and I wiped away our tears, and we ran upstairs to change into our swimsuits. She was extra nice to me for the rest of the day, but I was conscious that our reconciliation was down to Jonas, and I watched him more closely than usual as the three of us messed around in the shallows. When Nina floated out into deeper water, I seized my chance and thanked him privately.
“Well, I had to do something,” he said, holding my gaze. “I’d hate to see you go. I like you, Beth.”
In that brief moment, I forgot about all my worries.
“I like you too,” I said.
“Do you think maybe, one day—” he began. But Nina was splashing toward us, shouting that she’d seen a giant pike, that it had nibbled at her toes. Our moment of intimacy was over, but I smiled to myself each time I thought about his words. “I like you, Beth.” Things weren’t so bad at Raven Hall, after all.
Sadie
January 2019
The next course looks intriguing, Sadie thinks. Thick lamb chops, a medley of green vegetables, and something round, stodgy, and golden brown. She prods it with her fork; it’s larger than the palm of her hand, and it’s clearly been fried, but she can’t work out what it is.
“Puffball mushroom,” Nazleen says, with more than a trace of unease.
“Ah, yes, lovely,” Everett says, and he tucks in with gusto, giving Sadie the confidence to nibble a tiny piece of hers. Not bad. She slices into her lamb, and a thin, bloody liquid oozes instantly across her plate. It’s a good job there are so many courses, she thinks, because at this rate, I won’t finish any of them. She takes another sip of her wine.
The guests continue to ask one another questions while they pick at their food, and Sadie tries to keep track of the replies in her head, wishing she could jot down some notes. She’s confident she’s drawing closer to identifying the guilty party, but she keeps changing her mind, and the alcohol isn’t helping . . . Which guest swore they came downstairs empty-handed? Which clue has she overlooked? As people begin to set down their cutlery, Nazleen appears to remember something.
“Oh.”
Nazleen reaches for the game cards, and she takes a sip of water before she begins her next speech, and Sadie realizes with a jolt of surprise that Nazleen hasn’t been drinking wine like everyone else. Perhaps it’s Nazleen’s choice, or perhaps it’s a condition of the hostess role; the rest of them have been plied with drinks all evening, but maybe the company felt one person should remain sober and in charge.
“It was Nazleen,” Zach whispers at Sadie’s side. “Don’t you think? I’m pretty sure Lady Nightingale murdered her own husband . . .”
Nazleen raises her voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a card here for each of you which will provide you with details of the last conversation you had with Lord Nightingale. This will be new information for you, and something you will now want to question one another about.”