It’s not spying. It’s just harmless curiosity. A quick look into their bedrooms, that’s all, and then she’ll rejoin the dinner party downstairs.
The first room is clearly Nazleen’s. Two long green dresses are draped over the bed, and the dressing table is scattered with creams and makeup. A small framed wedding photo sits rather endearingly on the bedside table, and Sadie smiles to see a younger-looking Nazleen arm in arm with her red-haired wife. She closes the door gently.
The room on the other side of Sadie’s is blatantly Mrs. Shrew’s. Deep blue items are still folded neatly in the open suitcase, and a feather brooch lies discarded on the bedside table. No photographs in this room; nothing particularly personal at all. A faint floral scent hangs in the air, and Sadie closes the door softly and moves on to the next room.
This one’s owner is harder to identify. The suitcase is closed, so Sadie tiptoes across the layered rugs and lifts the lid. An array of sickly yellow items brings a faint smile to her face—poor Joe. A darker color would have suited him better—racing green perhaps, or a navy blue. A pair of trainers and a running kit are tucked in at one end of the case, and she smiles at his optimism—presumably planning a run before breakfast tomorrow, despite the freezing weather and the excesses of tonight.
After Joe’s room comes a large old-fashioned and fully tiled bathroom, and beyond that is a door set into the end wall of the corridor. Sadie pulls this open and peers up a rising spiral staircase. This must be inside the tower. She glances at her watch and hesitates; it’s tempting. But if she doesn’t return to the others soon, one of them is bound to come up looking for her, and she’d rather not be caught prying. The door falls shut with a clunk.
She moves more quickly as she works her way back down the corridor. The first bedroom is less luxuriously furnished than the others. Thinner curtains, a single bed, a slinky red dress puddled on the floor. Poor Genevieve has been given a lower-grade room, it seems. Perhaps because she was a last-minute hire.
Another, rather chilly, bathroom, and then a room with no company vintage suitcase in sight, just a sports bag dumped by the bed. Sadie frowns, and then her brow clears; this may well be Zach’s room—he of the “nearly didn’t come,” couldn’t-be-bothered-to-dress-up attitude. She closes the door softly and moves along to the last room on this side of the staircase.
And yes, her hunch about Zach’s bedroom was right, because this one clearly belongs to Everett. Purple fabric bulges from the open suitcase, and she spots an invitation card poking out from among the clothes. She can’t resist; she tiptoes across the room and draws the card out to read the personal message in its loopy blue handwriting. Hendrik will appreciate your support. She pulls a face and slides the card back under a soft mauve sweater. Perhaps Hendrik is the owner of the murder mystery company. She can see how such a message would have appealed to Everett’s sense of self-importance.
When she is out on the landing again, a faint thud makes her glance beyond the staircase to the opposite end of the corridor—the fire-damaged end, as she thinks of it. Did someone follow her up here? Suddenly, she feels acutely aware of the house around her. So many rooms. So many nooks and corners and potential hiding places . . . The hairs on her arms rise, and before she can tear her gaze from the double row of identical doors, an odd yelping sound comes from behind one of them, like a laugh morphing into a cry.
She races for the stairs, hurtles down them, and almost slips in her heels before she reaches the bottom, only just saving herself in time.
As before, the hall is deserted. She stands at its center, trying to catch her breath, and when she stares, wide-eyed, back up the staircase, there’s nothing to be seen. No ghost, no sinister, shadowy figure . . . What on earth was I thinking? A rumble of conversation drifts from the dining room; dishes clank in the kitchen. She presses her hand against her chest and waits for her heart rate to settle.
It was probably an animal, that’s all. A fox, maybe, or a bird, that found a route into the once-abandoned house and returns to scavenge now. She draws herself up, trying to summon her former confidence, her sense of amused appreciation at finding herself in this privileged situation. But as she reaches for the dining room door handle, she glances over her shoulder at the door of the dusty study that she and Nazleen discovered earlier. She’s as sure as she can be that it was shut when she went upstairs. And now it’s ajar.
Beth
Summer 1988 to Spring 1989
Jonas may have given me a new reason to feel happy at Raven Hall, but I never saw him alone—Nina and I did almost everything together. As the summer holidays drew to an end, Jonas asked me again whether I’d be joining him at the high school in September, and I felt embarrassed that I couldn’t give him a definite answer. The prospect of being at the same school appealed to me, although I’d be in the year below him, so I probably wouldn’t see him all that much. I asked Nina if she knew what the plan was, but she merely shrugged and suggested we ask her parents that evening.
It seemed Leonora and Markus hadn’t given any thought to my ongoing education either, but they quickly came up with a suggestion.
“Not the local high school, no,” Leonora said, “but let’s go and look at this other place.” She glanced at Nina. “Perhaps you both might like to try it there.”
Nina was surprisingly agreeable, and three weeks later we were both enrolled at a small and very welcoming private school. The other girls there were friendly, and I hit it off with my new violin tutor straightaway. The only downside was the school was miles from Raven Hall. We left in a taxi early in the morning and got home late, but Nina was cheerful about it, so I was determined to be happy too.
At first, I fretted every time money was mentioned at school—why were Leonora and Markus insisting on paying for my education, and what would happen if they stopped? I still felt I had to be careful not to antagonize Nina. Not that she ever referred to the “game” again or said anything pointed, but I knew that if she asked her parents to send me away, they would—they’d always put her first, and quite rightly too. So I stayed alert for any sign that the family might be preparing to send me back to the children’s home. But as the months passed, and my school life grew more absorbing, I began to relax.
Caroline came for a short visit in October, staying for barely an hour, during which time we made polite conversation in the drawing room and I ate a lot of biscuits to fill the awkward silences. She said she’d see me again before Christmas, but in the end, she sent a parcel and her apologies—she’d been assigned work in South America for six weeks. Eventually, at the end of January, she made a second visit to check on my welfare.
“You seem very settled,” she said.
She’d been in the house hardly two minutes. Leonora, Markus, and Nina had retreated promptly, leaving us to chat privately by the fire that crackled in the black marble fireplace, a tea tray placed on the coffee table between us. I scrutinized her expression, sensing that she was, more than anything, relieved that I was no longer her problem. I was tempted to make a snide retort. Yes, how convenient for you, Aunt Caroline. But as ever, I masked my resentment of her.