Nina raises her eyebrows, then draws back the cuff of her coat. “Ten past four.”
“Your watch . . . ,” Sadie says. I follow her gaze to Nina’s white sports watch. Sadie sounds both amazed and triumphant. “You’ve been sitting in your car outside Mum’s house, haven’t you? These past few weeks. In a dark gray Audi . . .”
I look from Sadie to Nina, my bewilderment greater than ever. “Is that true? Why? Why would you do that?”
Suddenly, Nina’s face collapses into a childlike expression—hurt and resentful, as if she’s been the victim of a cruel trick. She glares at me as though it were all my fault, and she can’t seem to resist bouncing the blame onto me.
“I rang your old workplace, but they’d only say you didn’t work there anymore; they wouldn’t tell me anything else. I watched your house for hours, Beth, and you never went in or out. All I saw was this sad daughter, and people carting away your furniture . . .” She shakes her head bitterly, as if the whole world has conspired against her. “You never answered your invitation, Beth. You made me think you were dead.”
Sadie
Sadie scans her memory. All that post of her mother’s that she scooped up and dropped unopened into the cardboard box in the hall . . . Beth had assured her, before she left for the retreat, that all her bills were settled; there’d be nothing that needed Sadie’s attention. And, of course, Sadie had believed her; she’d barely glanced at anything in that box. How easily an invitation to a murder mystery weekend might have been lost among the pizza leaflets and charity letters and free newspapers . . .
Beth stares at Nina, and her voice is faint. “You really thought I was dead . . .”
Nina presses her lips together, and Sadie suspects she’s regretting her outburst.
“So it was you who sent the invitations,” Sadie says to her. “But I saw you watching Mum’s house weeks before I got my invite. Was I—?” She glances at Beth. “Did you invite me here as a replacement for my mum?”
Nina ignores her. She looks utterly exhausted now; she slumps back on the sofa, and her next words are quiet and directed only at Beth.
“What does it matter, now, anyway?” she says. “The whole thing has failed, hasn’t it? I concede defeat, Beth. Congratulations. You win again.”
Leonora watches Markus and Nina from the kitchen window. Mallets clacking, they’re playing croquet on the lawn, Nina shrieking indignantly every time Markus knocks one of her balls out of place. It’s a joyful, vicious game.
She glances at the clock; she wishes she could be as relaxed as they are.
It’s been three weeks since Stephanie’s phone call. “Sorry, Leonora. I thought I should let you know. I’ve just taken a booking for a Mr. Hendrik Meyer for next month, and his secretary said she was booking an appointment with the local estate agent too . . .”
At first, Leonora had felt hopeless. This was it: Hendrik was coming back to put an end to all her dreams. He’d sell the house, throw them out . . . Markus tried to reassure her, but she had to face the truth: their chances of persuading Hendrik to let them stay at Raven Hall were virtually nil. But then, Markus—her wonderful, kindhearted, clever Markus—had come up with a plan . . .
She glances at the clock again. Their guest will be here in a few minutes. She raps on the kitchen window to summon Markus and Nina in.
By the time the car draws up on the gravel, the three of them are lined up on the top step, and Leonora shoots a quick look at Markus over Nina’s head: Can they really pull this off? Are they making a mistake? Is it too late to change their minds?
The car door opens, and out steps the child, blond-haired, round-cheeked, her face a mask of self-protection that Leonora recognizes only too well: the face of a survivor, the face of an orphan. Leonora’s heart squeezes with a painful mix of sympathy and terror. This girl is their best chance—their only chance.
Leonora hurries down the steps to greet her.
Beth
This isn’t a game, Nina!” I shake her by the arms, trying to make her look at me. “Why did you do it?”
Nina’s expression is closed now; she turns her head away. Sadie moves to the window, to the gap in the curtains, and the relief in her voice makes my heart ache.
“The police are here.”
I’m shocked to feel tears welling up. Jonas has called for help. We’re going to be okay. I turn back to Nina, but still, she refuses to look at me, and I feel my anger rising.
“What was this all for?” I gesture at Sadie and the other guests huddled in their dressing gowns and overcoats; at the abandoned whiskey glasses; at the door that hides the blackened staircase beyond. “Just tell me, will you?”
“Yes, tell us.” Nazleen’s voice is indignant. “You don’t even know me. Why would you want to hurt me?”
“Yeah,” Zach chimes in plaintively. “What did we ever do to you?”
Finally, Nina meets my gaze—only for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough to make my blood freeze. I stumble backward, away from her, away from the ice-cold fury in her eyes. I know what some of us did to her.
Leonora made her sick, hid her from the world and from her own grandfather. Jonas switched his attentions to me when I came on the scene. And as for me, I took her place, pretended to be her, stole her only friend away from her . . .
“There’s no point in looking for a rational reason,” Everett growls from his armchair. “She’s a criminal. She needs locking up.”
Nina gets to her feet. Blue light slices through the window and washes over her face. She moves closer to the armchair by the fire.
“Dr. Everett,” she says, “I notice you haven’t asked me why I invited you here.”
Everett’s tone is aggrieved. “I’ve never met you before either.” He glances around the room nervously. “I had no idea that woman was your mother until just now.”
“That woman,” Nina says, “has a name. Leonora Averell. Do you remember her? Please tell me you haven’t forgotten driving her back to your house, years ago, when she was alone and vulnerable.”
Everett’s dark eyes widen, and Nina nods as something tightens in his expression.
“I see you do remember,” she says.
Blue light fills the room now. Car doors slam outside; boots pound across the gravel.
Everett barks at Zach. “Get them in here, quick. They need to take her away, lock her up.”
Nina tilts her head, and she looks him straight in the eye. “Dr. Roy Everett. We haven’t properly met. I’m Nina Averell. And I’m your daughter.”