The Last Daughter

by Nicola Cornick

  A moment after he had left, Elizabeth popped up beside the bed, her face lit from below by the candle flame, both her long hair and her dangling ribbons in danger of catching fire.

  ‘What did they want?’ she demanded.

  I yawned. ‘I am to marry a boy with a saint’s name,’ I said sleepily.

  ‘Why you?’ Elizabeth groused. ‘I am the eldest. Even Alice is older than you.’

  I snuggled down, already on the edge of sleep. ‘You marry him then,’ I said. ‘I don’t mind.’

  Elizabeth was wide awake, however, and full of spite. ‘Uncle Warwick saves his own daughters for better matches,’ she said, ‘whilst he barters us away. I heard father say he means them for the royal princes. Not for nothing is he called the Kingmaker.’

  ‘Then I pity them,’ I said. ‘Cousin George can be horrid.’ I wriggled crossly, wishing she would take her grumbling elsewhere. I rolled over and turned my back. ‘Go away. I want to sleep.’

  ‘Nothing will change,’ father had said. I had always trusted him.

  Life was so simple when I was but five years old.

  Chapter 3

  Serena

  Minster Lovell, Present Day

  Serena woke whilst it was still dark, the sound of a discordant peal of bells in her ears. She lay for a moment half-asleep, half-awake, pulled from a dream. Her mind, dazed by travel, stress and jet lag, took a few moments to catch up. She knew she was back in England and for one crazy second, she thought she was in her flat in Bristol, and that Jonah was in the bed beside her, his presence a constant and a comfort. Then she realised that this wasn’t her flat, and remembered that Jonah was long gone and their past together had been tidied away along with all the other emotional detritus she’d swept under the carpet, and that she was in Oxfordshire, at the Minster Lovell Inn. It felt unfamiliar and odd: the vast acreage of the four-poster bed spread around her, the old cotton sheets smooth and cool. Though the room was pitch-black she could hear the sounds of the ancient building settling around her, the creak of a floorboard and the sighing of the old beams. She felt anxiety skitter down her spine, wondering once again whether she had done the right thing in coming back here.

  Curling up on her side, Serena thought that in some ways it was actually pleasant to have some peace. She’d spent the previous three days staying with her parents in Gloucestershire. It had been an excruciatingly difficult time. Her mother, never particularly resilient, had crumbled completely when confronted with the proof that Caitlin was dead. Her father was not resourceful in a crisis either. He meant well but that phrase in itself damned any pretence that he was capable of holding things together. It had been Serena who had spoken to the police, who were still in the earliest stages of the investigation and very reticent in disclosing any details. All they would say was that Caitlin’s body had been found not far from where she had disappeared at Minster Lovell, it was currently unclear how long ago she had died, and that they would like to discuss the case in more detail with all members of her family in due course. It all felt very cold and procedural.

  Serena had kept Polly updated on progress each day and had rung her the previous afternoon before she’d left Gloucestershire. Their calls had been a lifeline, she thought, the only thing keeping her sane and grounded.

  ‘I’m going to Oxford to talk to the police tomorrow,’ she had told her aunt, visualising the early morning sunshine pouring into Polly’s penthouse as they spoke. ‘They want to give us the latest news on the investigation and also to go through the events of the original enquiry into Caitlin’s disappearance.’ She’d glanced towards the door of the sitting room, which was ajar, her parents pretending to watch a news programme whilst eavesdropping on her conversation. ‘We all agreed that it was probably best I handle that.’

  ‘You mean Jackie and Paul can’t cope with it,’ Polly had said bluntly. ‘I’m sorry, hon. This must be so hard for you.’

  ‘They’re both in shock,’ Serena had said, defending her parents, as she always did. ‘It’s unbelievably tough for them to face this after so many years of hoping for a miracle. They will have to be interviewed at some point but they just need a bit more time to come to terms with it all. Besides, I was there the night that Caitlin vanished. It might help jog my memory to talk it through again.’ She took a deep breath. ‘So I thought I’d stay in Minster Lovell for a few days whilst I talk to the police. I’m heading over there this evening.’

  ‘What?’ Polly’s incredulity came through loud and clear. ‘Is that really a good idea?’

  Serena laughed. ‘You obviously don’t think so! Look, Aunt Pol, I do understand your concerns and I appreciate them.’ Her voice warmed. ‘I know you’re trying to look out for me. But if I’m going to go raking over the events of Caitlin’s disappearance, and let’s face it, I don’t have much choice as the police want to discuss it, I might as well do it properly.’ She dropped her voice further, aware that her mother’s ears were practically out on stalks. ‘I’ve thought for a while that if I went back now, as an adult, it might prompt me to remember what happened that night. The only reason I haven’t done it before was because I was scared. Too scared to face up to it.’

  Polly gave a gusty sigh. ‘You’d moved on and now this has dragged you back.’

  ‘I hadn’t really,’ Serena said honestly. ‘I might have moved on in my life but in my head Caitlin’s disappearance is somewhere I just don’t go and that has affected everything – my relationships, my sense of who I am… It’s like a shadow over me all the time. It feels as though a part of my life is… not missing, but unfinished, somehow, and I owe it to myself as well as Caitlin to try one last time to recover those memories.’

  ‘OK,’ Polly said cautiously, ‘but do you really need to stay there? I mean, it’s only an hour and a half from where you live. Surely you could stay in Bristol and just go over if you feel the need to tramp around the manor and the ruins?’ Her tone suggested that she thought this was a particularly bad idea.

  ‘I thought of that,’ Serena said, ‘but I want to be as close to the manor as possible. There’s something about being on the spot where it all happened… I think it might help me.’

  There was a long silence at the other end of the phone. ‘Well, you’ve clearly made up your mind,’ Polly said, ‘so I won’t waste my breath. Where will you be staying?’

  ‘There’s a few nice places,’ Serena said, ‘but the Minster Inn is closest to the manor and the ruins of the Old Hall.’

  ‘You’re really going for this, huh?’ Polly sighed again. ‘Then all I can do is wish you luck. Make sure you ring me every day, OK? And if anything happens – if you start recovering your lost memories – get the hell out of there and call a therapist. This feels dangerous to me.’

  ‘I will,’ Serena promised. She had had plenty of therapy eleven years before and it had helped hugely with the shock and the grief of Caitlin’s loss, but nothing had stirred the lost memories. She wasn’t sure that anything ever would now, not so long after the event. Yet she owed it to herself, and her sister, to try.

  Sleep had gone for good now. Her mind was too active. Serena yawned, fumbling for her phone on the nightstand to check the time. The bright light from the screen made her squint and showed that it was ten minutes past six. The glow from the phone cast the rest of the bedroom in shades of light and dark, outlining the bulk of the huge wooden wardrobe, an armchair, and the table that held various well-thumbed old copies of local magazines describing the glories of the Cotswolds. The table also held a rickety lamp and a more efficient-looking torch. When she had arrived at the Minster Inn the previous night, Serena had discovered that the torch came as standard.

  ‘There’s no street lighting and we get power cuts sometimes,’ Eve, the landlady, had said cheerfully. ‘There’s a hot-water bottle and an extra blanket in the wardrobe if you need them. After all, it is only March.’

  Serena could hear the ancient plumbing cranking itself into action as she flicked off the pho
ne and lay back in the big double bed. Six fifteen on a chilly March morning. She started to run through the plan of the day in her head. She had an appointment in Oxford at twelve thirty with Inspector Litton of the Thames Valley CID and after that she planned to visit her grandfather at his care home in Witney. Until then, her time was her own.

  Time to think, time to explore, time to remember.

  Serena lay for a moment staring up at the faded canopy of the four-poster bed. Even if Polly had not been happy with her decision to stay at Minster Lovell – and neither had her parents – she knew that she was right to follow her instinct. They wanted to protect her and she understood that. They had been trying to do that ever since that July night. But she was an adult and had to make her own decisions and live her own life. When Caitlin vanished, her whole existence had shattered. She had only been seventeen and the machinery of investigation had swept her up and caused her to feel even more isolated and grief-stricken. It was hardly surprising that once the police enquiries had finished, she had never wanted to talk about Caitlin again. The problem was that it was not so easy. Her twin could not simply be ignored or forgotten. Caitlin’s bright spirit shadowed her wherever she went and whatever she did.

  Serena sat up and slipped out of the bed, her feet sinking into the thick bedside rug. She padded barefoot to the window. Last night she had arrived in twilight, eaten scampi in a basket and gone to bed with indigestion. This morning, before she headed into Oxford, she would explore the village and the ruins of the hall for the first time in over a decade.

  A little shiver tickled down her spine. She pulled back the heavy velvet curtain and peered outside. It was just starting to get light, a tiny sliver of gold on the eastern horizon breaking through a bank of pewter cloud. Night still clung close, however, and in its shadows the ruins of the old Minster Lovell Hall looked unfriendly. When she had been a child, Serena had loved the romantic tumbled towers and moss-covered walls in the meadows beside the pretty little River Windrush. She and Caitlin had stayed as often as they could with their grandparents, in the old Manor House that had been built within the ruins of the medieval hall.

  Minster Lovell had seemed an impossibly magical place in those days, atmospheric and steeped in history. It had inspired Serena to study for a history degree at university and when Caitlin had disappeared, she had thrown herself into the past as a way to escape the intolerable nature of the present. A series of jobs in the heritage industry had followed before she and Ella had struck out on their own with the bespoke tour company. Now, though, as she looked at the place that had shaped so much of her life, the lowering bulk of the ruined hall in the morning light seemed threatening rather than inspiring. The shadows of the past pressed near. Caitlin’s body had been found somewhere close to here. She felt a shudder rack her.

  Deliberately she remained standing by the window, her gaze fixed on the ruins, until she felt the flutter of fear that was inside her subside. The past could not hurt her now. It was over. And she couldn’t afford to be scared if she wanted to remember.

  She allowed the curtain to fall back across the window and climbed into the nest of sheets, blanket and eiderdown, drawing her knees up to her chin and hugging them close. The jet lag that had added another layer of stress to her return home had eased slightly over the past three days but she still felt simultaneously exhausted and wide awake, her head aching with tension. With a sigh she lay down again and fell into the sort of light doze that only seemed to make her feel more sluggish when she woke up again two hours later.

  A shower helped her and she went down for breakfast. There was a scent of bacon fat and stale beer in the air, the staple background of the country pub. Piped music played, too faintly for Serena to identify the song. She had a day-old copy of the Guardian to read but Eve, the landlady, seemed keen to chat.

  ‘I heard the church bells chime last night,’ Serena mentioned when Eve brought her the plate of bacon, eggs, sausage, toast and all the other elements that made up the Minster Inn’s full English breakfast. She was the only occupant of the breakfast room and wondered if she was the only guest. She’d never been in the pub before; at seventeen she and Caitlin had been underage although she suspected that Caitlin, who had been going out with the barman, had slipped in now and then for a drink.

  ‘There haven’t been any church bells since 2012,’ Eve said briskly. She was about fifty, small, with short dark hair and dark eyes, neat and quick of movement, efficient as she unstacked Serena’s breakfast from her tray. ‘They were banned for being too noisy. Some of the villagers didn’t like them.’ Her sharp gaze appraised Serena thoughtfully. ‘You must have imagined hearing them. Either that or you’re fey. They say that only those who are haunted can hear the ringing of the church bells.’

  Only those who are haunted… Serena repressed a shiver. It was an odd turn of phrase and she didn’t like it. If anyone in Minster Lovell was haunted, she definitely was. She remembered again that Caitlin’s body had been discovered somewhere nearby and pushed the thought away almost violently.

  ‘I probably dreamed it,’ she said, deliberately light. ‘I’ve still got jet lag.’

  ‘Lucky you.’ Eve’s eyes sparkled. ‘Have you been away on holiday?’

  ‘California,’ Serena said, ‘just visiting family.’

  ‘And now you’re here…’ Eve paused, inviting more conversation. Evidently, she thought a bit of personal information on her guests was fair exchange for the cooked breakfast.

  ‘My grandfather lives near here,’ Serena said. ‘I’m calling in to see him later.’

  ‘Are you from hereabouts, then?’ Eve put her hands on her hips. ‘I don’t recognise you and I’ve lived here for ever. Been behind this bar for years.’

  ‘My grandparents owned the manor before it was sold to the Heritage Trust,’ Serena said. She didn’t recognise Eve either. ‘They lived here for about twenty years and my sister and I used to come and stay for our holidays. It was a while ago.’ She smiled at Eve, deciding to change the subject. ‘I don’t remember the pub looking as good as this, though. I only ever saw the outside. You’ve made it really nice. It’s a classic country pub, very charming.’

  It was certainly the case that Eve had gone to town on the whole traditional old English image. There were horse brasses tacked on to the beams, a post horn and a chamber pot nestling together rather incongruously on the window sill, whilst through into the bar Serena could see a motley collection of china toby jugs, a pair of duelling pistols, antique candleholders and a rather tarnished sword hanging on the wall.

  Eve gave a snort of laughter. ‘It’s falling apart really but it’s been in my family for years and I feel I sort of owe it to them to keep it going. The place is a money pit, though, and with so many people doing private rentals these days, times are tough for pubs like this. Still,’ her tone softened, ‘there’s always the food service. That does well. And I’m glad you like it here.’

  She bustled away with the tray, leaving Serena with her coffee; good, strong cafetière-brewed coffee she wanted to drink slowly. She picked up the paper but didn’t start to read; instead she gazed out of the diamond-paned window and thought about the holidays that she and Caitlin had spent with their grandparents at the manor. The best times had been Christmas and February half-terms, when there had been frost on the rushes down by the river. She could remember the crunch of it beneath the soles of her boots and later, the pleasure of thawing out in front of the huge roaring fire in the parlour, having crumpets and hot milk. In the autumn there had been tumbling leaves and pale blue windswept skies, and in the summer, they had swum in the river and played hide and seek amongst the fallen stones of the ruined hall.

  In those days Minster Lovell had been enchanted. Now it was spring – a damp and chill spring – yet to burst into new life. A placed haunted by Caitlin’s death.

  A series of cars crawled past the window, taking the twisting road over the little stone bridge in a queue. A minibus drew up outside a
nd disgorged a group of teenagers with huge rucksacks. They looked miserable.

  ‘Duke of Edinburgh Awards.’ Eve had reappeared. ‘Poor little sods. Or perhaps they’re helping out at the archaeological dig at the church. Either way, I’m sure they’d rather be inside on their games consoles.’ She tilted her head at Serena. ‘I forgot to ask, did you sleep OK, apart from hearing the bells?’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ Serena said. ‘It was very cosy.’

  ‘I didn’t put you in the haunted bedroom, just in case.’ Eve looked wistful, as though she would prefer to terrify her guests so that there was a good story to tell in the morning.

  ‘Thanks,’ Serena said. ‘I appreciate that. I imagine the place is stiff with ghosts.’

  Eve sat down edgeways on the chair opposite, perching in a rather determined fashion. Serena put the newspaper down and poured herself another cup of coffee. She already knew most of the local legends from her childhood, though she suspected she was about to hear them all again. She and Caitlin had scared each other sleepless telling ghost stories on dark nights in the creaky old manor.

  ‘The pub’s ancient,’ Eve said, ‘although we only have the one ghost here in the building. But the village’ – she made a gesture that implied Minster Lovell was the paranormal centre of the universe – ‘well, there’s a lot of supernatural activity around here. The place attracts dark energies.’

  ‘Does it?’ Serena said, noncommittal. She wasn’t a great believer in the supernatural. The family had been targeted by plenty of people who had claimed they had special powers to find or communicate with Caitlin’s spirit; Serena had been so repelled by this that she had shied away from anything remotely paranormal ever since. Eve, however, was not deterred.

  ‘Yes! There’s a ghost of a knight on horseback, who challenges people to race him to the bridge, and a grey lady, and a monk who wanders the ruins of the Old Hall and another ghostly lady – this one’s green – and a ghost dog.’