A minute later, Joe makes his entrance. He carries a glass of water, and he takes it straight to Mrs. Shrew. Zach spots a deck of cards on one of the many occasional tables, and he asks Sadie if she wants a game, but she shakes her head.
“I might just sit for a bit,” she says, her hand drifting to her abdomen, “and let my food settle.” Her stomach feels delicate again, and she’s growing increasingly convinced that something she’s eaten tonight has disagreed with her. Each time the nausea stirs, she thinks uneasily of the story line of the game—the toxic substance that supposedly killed their host. She sinks onto a velvet armchair and wonders how soon she can head up to bed.
Finally, Genevieve appears in the doorway, and she looks upset—her face is pale, her dark eyes enormous. She clutches a long fur coat against her chest, and she doesn’t come into the room. Sadie glances at Joe—did he say something to her out there to distress her? But Joe looks just as surprised and concerned as the rest of them. Genevieve clutches the fur coat tighter against herself, and she rushes to give her own explanation.
“I don’t feel very well either, I’m afraid. I’m, erm—I might go outside and get some fresh air.”
Zach sounds triumphant. “I told you it was the pudding. She ate a lot of hers too.” The others ignore him.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Sadie asks, but she’s relieved when Genevieve shakes her head.
“No, no.” Genevieve forces a smile. “I’ll be fine. It’s freezing out there; you stay indoors.”
They listen as her heels clack away down the hall, and the front door slams.
“And then there were five . . . ,” Zach says.
“Please be quiet, Zach.” Sadie hurries to the window and pulls back the curtain, and she watches Genevieve, now wearing the coat, march away—across the little pool of light on the gravel and into the darkness. Her further progress is indicated only by a thin beam of white light from the torch on her phone. Behind Sadie, Joe clears his throat, and he joins her at the window, peering over her shoulder just as Genevieve’s phone light flicks off and a tiny orange glow appears.
“She’s on the dock,” he says. “A quick cigarette and she’ll be straight back in; don’t worry. It’s bitter out there.”
Sadie lets the curtain fall back. “I’m not worried. Who says I was worried?”
Joe makes a placatory gesture. “I just meant—”
Sadie turns away, and she sees that Zach is shaking Everett’s arm.
“Dad? Dad!”
Everett blinks awake, and he mumbles a denial.
“Everyone’s feeling ill, Dad,” Zach says, and he adds in a smaller voice, “Even me.”
Everett sits forward and glares at Sadie and Joe, as if it might be their fault. Sadie’s tempted to suggest Zach’s symptoms might be alcohol related, but she bites her tongue.
“Well,” Everett says. “Not vomiting? No? Milk of magnesia, then, and sleep it off.” He eases back in his chair and pats his stomach through his purple waistcoat. “Too much of the fine stuff.” He chuckles. “It was worth it, though.”
Mrs. Shrew rises without even glancing in Everett’s direction.
“I shall retire to bed myself,” she says, “and hope we all feel better in the morning.”
She waves away Joe’s offer of help and leaves the room. Sadie looks at her remaining three companions, and a sudden thought makes her return to the window.
“Both the cars are gone,” she says.
“What?” snaps Everett. “Has that young filly driven off and left us?”
“Not Genevieve,” Sadie says. “They were already gone when she went out.”
Joe’s tone is tense. “They must have been the staff’s cars. The chef and the waiter and the photographer—they all went home a while ago, didn’t they?”
Sadie fails to suppress a swell of panic. The seven of them arrived in chauffeur-driven luxury. Now they’re stuck out here, in the middle of nowhere, with no phone signal, no transport, and they’re all feeling unwell . . . And then her heart lurches with a greater shock, and she leans closer to the glass, searching for, and failing to find, either a white light or an orange glow.
“Where’s Genevieve?”
Beth
May 1989
Leonora gave me a different dress to put on for Markus’s father’s second visit—it was also blue, but in a more adult style, so it was a little more comfortable to wear. I’d grown taller since I’d moved to Raven Hall, and I was slimmer and fitter from all the outdoor exercise I’d had. I studied my reflection in the big cheval mirror in my bedroom, and my mind churned with questions.
The details didn’t make sense; I must be missing something. I didn’t mind helping Leonora and Markus out—I didn’t even mind too much if Nina’s grandfather shouted at me again. I just couldn’t understand the way it had all happened.
Surely Nina’s falling ill again, just before her grandfather’s visit, was a remarkable coincidence? But I couldn’t believe she was faking it—certainly not last time, when she’d looked so washed out and weak. Was it psychological—was she so terrified of meeting her grandfather, it brought on physical symptoms? But, despite her mother’s apparent fear of germs, Nina was one of the toughest, bravest people I knew.
Besides which, since Markus’s father now believed I was Nina, of course it made sense for me to play her again for this second visit. There was no alternative—Nina could hardly go skipping in and claim to be the same child he first met ten months ago. So perhaps Nina’s current illness really was just a coincidence. I frowned at my reflection. I just didn’t know. But something didn’t feel right.
“I think—yes, I think we’ll plait your hair again,” Leonora said, eyeing me critically in the drawing room. “I’m sure he won’t stay long, Beth. It’ll all be over soon.”
I closed my eyes as she tugged the brush through my hair, and this time I thought not about my parents, but about Jonas.
Jonas was in favor of our breaking the news to Nina that we were an item, but I’d asked him to wait. I worried that Nina would be hurt, and I felt guilty that my friendship with her had loosened in the last few weeks while I was sneaking around meeting Jonas in private. What if Nina became angry? What if she asked her parents to send me away from Raven Hall?
A little voice whispered in my head: They can’t very well send me away now—what if Nina’s grandfather comes back for another visit? But Leonora’s heavy strokes with the hairbrush reminded me of how determined she was. She’d find a way around any obstacle; I knew it. I couldn’t trust in my own importance. I had to keep Nina—and Leonora—happy.