by Kate Morton
I turned the locket over and over in my hands, glanced at it every so often. Did I notice then the faint rattle from within? Or was I too preoccupied, wondering at Hannah’s nerves? I hadn’t seen her that way for a long time, not since the early days in London, after she saw the spiritualist.
‘There you are.’ Nancy was at the door, cheeks flushed, out of breath. ‘One of Mrs Townsend’s women has collapsed with exhaustion and there’s no one to dust the strudels.’
It was midnight before I finally climbed the stairs to bed. The party was still raging on the terrace below, but Mrs Townsend had sent me away as soon as she could spare me. It seemed Hannah’s twitchiness was contagious, and a busy kitchen was no place for fumbling.
I climbed the stairs slowly, feet throbbing: years as a lady’s maid had caused them to soften. An evening in the kitchen was all it took to blister. Mrs Townsend had given me a little parcel of bicarbonate soda and I intended to soak them in a warm bath.
There was no escaping the music that night: it permeated the air, impregnating the stone walls of the house. It had grown more raucous as the evening wore on, matching the spirits of the party-goers. I could feel the frenzied drumbeat in my stomach even as I reached the attic. To this day, jazz turns my blood to ice.
At the top landing I considered going straight to set the bath running but decided to fetch my nightgown and toiletries first.
A pool of the day’s hot air hit my face when I opened my bedroom door. I pulled the electric switch and hobbled to the window, swinging the sash open.
I stood for a moment, savouring the burst of cool, breathing its faint aroma of cigarette smoke and perfume. I exhaled slowly. Time for a long, warm bath, then the sleep of the dead. I collected my soap from the dressing table beside me then limped toward the bed for my nightgown.
It was then I saw the letters. Two of them. Propped against my pillow.
One addressed to me; one with Emmeline’s name on front.
The handwriting was Hannah’s.
I had a presentiment then. A rare moment of unconscious clarity.
I knew instantly that the answer to her odd behaviour lay within.
I dropped my nightgown and picked up the envelope marked Grace. With trembling fingers I tore it open. I smoothed the sheet of paper. My eyes scanned and my heart sank.
It was written in shorthand.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the piece of paper, as if, through sheer force of will, its message would become clear.
Its indecipherability only made me more certain its contents were important.
I picked up the second envelope. Addressed to Emmeline. Fingered its rim.
I deliberated only a second. What choice did I have?
So help me God, I opened it.
I was running: sore feet forgotten, blood pulsing, heartbeat in my head, breath catching in time with the music, down the stairs, through the house, onto the terrace.
I stood, chest heaving, scanning for Teddy. But he was lost. Somewhere amid the jagged shadows and the blurred faces.
There was no time. I would have to go alone.
I plunged into the crowd, skimming faces—red lips, painted eyes, wide laughing mouths. I dodged cigarettes and champagnes, beneath the coloured lanterns, around the dripping ice sculpture toward the dance floor. Elbows, knees, shoes, wrists whirled by. Colour. Movement. Blood pulsing in my head. Breath catching in my throat.
Then, Emmeline. Atop the stone staircase. Cocktail in hand, head tipped back to laugh, strand of pearls draped from her neck to lasso that of a male companion. His coat draped about her shoulders.
Two would have more chance than one.
I stopped. Tried to catch my breath.
She righted herself, regarded me from beneath heavy lids. ‘Why, Grace,’ she said with careful enunciation, ‘is that the prettiest party dress you could find?’ She threw her head back with laughter as she slipped on the ‘p’ sounds.
‘I must speak with you, miss . . .’
Her companion whispered something; she smacked his nose playfully.
I tried to breathe. ‘. . . a matter of urgency . . .’
‘I’m intrigued.’
‘. . . please . . .’ I said. ‘. . . In private . . .’
She sighed dramatically, removed her pearls from the fellow’s neck, squeezed his cheeks and pouted. ‘Don’t go far now, Harry darling.’
She tripped on her heel, squealed, then giggled, stumbling the rest of the way down the stairs. ‘Tell me all about it, Gracie,’ she slurred as we reached the bottom.
‘It’s Hannah, miss . . . she’s going to do something . . . something dreadful, at the lake . . .’
‘No!’ said Emmeline, leaning so close I could smell respired gin. ‘She’s not going to take a midnight swim, is she? How s-s-scandalous!’
‘. . . I believe she’s going to take her life, miss, that is, I know it’s what she intends . . .’
Her smile slipped, eyes widened. ‘Huh?’
‘. . . I found a note, miss.’ I handed it to her.
She swallowed, swayed, her voice leapt an octave. ‘But . . .
Have you . . . Teddy—?’
‘No time, miss.’
I took her wrist and dragged her into the Long Walk.
Hedges had grown to meet overhead and it was pitch black. We ran, stumbled, kept our hands to the side, brushing leaves to find the way. With each turn the party sounds grew more dreamlike. I remember thinking this was how Alice must’ve felt, falling down the rabbit hole.
We were in the Egeskov Garden when Emmeline’s heel snagged and she tumbled.
I almost tripped over her, stopped, tried to help her up.
She swept my hand aside, clambered to her feet and continued running.
There was a noise then in the garden and it seemed that one of the sculptures was moving. It giggled, groaned: not a sculpture at all but a pair of amorous escapees. They ignored us and we ignored them.
The second kissing gate was ajar and we hurried into the fountain clearing. The full moon was high and Icarus and his mermaids glowed ghostly in the white light. Without the hedges, the band’s music and the whooping of the party were loud again. Strangely nearer.
With aid of moonlight we went faster along the small path toward the lake. We reached the barricade, the sign forbidding entrance, and finally, the point where path met lake.
We both stopped in the shelter of the path’s nook, breathing heavily, and surveyed the scene before us. The lake glistened silently beneath the moon. The summer house, the rocky bank, were bathed in silvery light.
Emmeline inhaled sharply.
I followed her gaze.
On the pebbly bank were Hannah’s black shoes. The same I’d helped her into hours before.
Emmeline gasped, stumbled toward them. Beneath the moon she was very pale, her thin figure dwarfed by the large man’s jacket she wore.
A noise from the summer house. A door opening.
Emmeline and I both looked up.
A person. Hannah. Alive.
Emmeline gulped. ‘Hannah,’ she called, her voice a hoarse blend of alcohol and panic, echoing off the lake.
Hannah stopped stiff, hesitated; with a glance to the summer house she turned to face Emmeline. ‘What are you doing here?’ she called, voice tense.
‘Saving you?’ said Emmeline, beginning to laugh wildly. Relief, of course.
‘Go back,’ said Hannah quickly. ‘You must go back.’
‘And leave you here to drown yourself?’
‘I’m not going to drown myself,’ said Hannah. She glanced again at the summer house.
‘Then what are you doing? Airing your shoes?’ Emmeline held them aloft before dropping them again to her side. ‘I’ve seen your letter.’
‘I didn’t mean it. The letter was a . . . a joke.’ Hannah swallowed. ‘A game.’
‘A game?’
‘You weren’t meant to see it until later.’ Hannah’s voice grew surer. ‘I
had an entertainment planned. For tomorrow. For fun.’
‘Like a treasure hunt?’
‘Sort of.’
My breath caught in my throat. The note was not in earnest. It was part of an elaborate game. And the one addressed to me? Had Hannah intended me to help? Did that explain her nervous behaviour? It wasn’t the party, but the game she wanted to go well?
‘That’s what I’m doing now,’ said Hannah. ‘Hiding clues.’
Emmeline stood, blinking. Her body jerked as she hiccoughed. ‘A game,’ she said slowly.
‘Yes.’
Emmeline started to laugh hoarsely, dropped the shoes onto the ground. ‘Why didn’t you say so? I adore games! How clever of you, darling.’
‘Go back to the party,’ said Hannah. ‘And don’t tell anyone you saw me.’
Emmeline twisted an imaginary button on her lips. She turned on her heel and tripped her way over the stones toward the path. She scowled at me as she got close to my hiding spot. Her makeup had smudged.
‘I’m sorry, miss,’ I whispered. ‘I thought it was real.’
‘You’re just lucky you didn’t ruin everything.’ She eased herself onto a large rock, settled the jacket around her. ‘As it is I’ve a swollen ankle and I’ll miss more of the party while I rest. I’d better not miss the fireworks.’
‘I’ll wait with you. Help you back.’
‘I should think so,’ said Emmeline.
We sat for a minute, the party music reeling on in the distance, interspersed occasionally with a whoop of excited revelry. Emmeline rubbed her ankle, pressed it onto the ground every so often, transferring her weight.
Early morning fog had started to gather in the fens, was shifting out toward the lake. There was another hot day coming, but the night was cool. The fog kept it so.
Emmeline shivered, held open one side of her companion’s coat, rifled through the large inside pocket. In the moonlight, something glistened, black and shiny. Strapped to the coat’s lining. I inhaled: it was a gun.
Emmeline sensed my reaction, turned to me, wide-eyed. ‘Don’t tell me: first hand gun you’ve ever seen. You are a babe in the wood, Grace.’ She pulled it from the coat, turned it over in her hands, held it out to me. ‘Here. Want to hold it?’
I shook my head as she laughed, wishing I had never found the letters. Wishing, for once, that Hannah hadn’t included me.
‘Probably best,’ Emmeline said, hiccoughing. ‘Guns and parties. Not a good mix.’
She slipped the gun back into her pocket, continued to fossick, locating finally a silver flask. She unscrewed the lid and tossed her head back, drank for a long time.
‘Darling Harry,’ she said, smacking her lips together. ‘Prepared for every event.’ She took another swig and tucked the flask back into the coat. ‘Come on then. I’ve had my pain relief.’
I helped her up, my head bent over as she leaned on my shoulders. ‘That should do it,’ she said. ‘If you’ll just . . .’
I waited. ‘Ma’am?’
She gasped and I lifted my head, followed her gaze back toward the lake. Hannah was at the summer house and she wasn’t alone. There was a man with her, cigarette on his bottom lip. Carrying a small suitcase.
Emmeline recognised him before I did.
‘Robbie,’ she said, forgetting her ankle. ‘My God. It’s Robbie.’
Emmeline limped clumsily onto the lake bank; I stayed behind in the shadows. ‘Robbie!’ she called, waving her hand. ‘Robbie, over here.’
Hannah and Robbie froze. Looked at one another.
‘What are you doing here?’ Emmeline said excitedly. ‘And why on earth have you come the back way?’
Robbie drew on his cigarette, fumbled with the filter as he exhaled.
‘Come on up to the party,’ Emmeline said. ‘I’ll find you a drink.’
Robbie glanced across the lake into the distance. I followed his gaze, noticed something metallic shining on the other side. A motorbike, I realised, nestled where the lake met the outer meadows.
‘I know what’s happening,’ Emmeline said suddenly. ‘You’ve been helping Hannah with her game.’
Hannah stepped forward into the moonlight. ‘Emme—’ ‘Come on,’ said Emmeline quickly. ‘Let’s all go back to the house and find Robbie a room. Find some place for your suitcase.’
‘Robbie’s not going to the house,’ said Hannah.
‘Why, of course he is. He’s not going to stay down here all night, surely,’ said Emmeline with a silvery laugh. ‘It might be June but it’s rather cold, darlings.’
Hannah glanced at Robbie and something passed between them.
Emmeline saw it too. In that moment, as the moon shone pale on her face, I watched as excitement slid to confusion, and confusion arrived horribly at realisation. The months in London, Robbie’s early arrivals at number seventeen, the way she had been used.
‘There is no game, is there?’ she said softly.
‘No.’
‘The letter?’
‘A mistake,’ Hannah said.
‘Why’d you write it?’ said Emmeline.
‘I didn’t want you to wonder,’ said Hannah. ‘Where I’d gone.’ She glanced at Robbie. He nodded slightly. ‘Where we’d gone.’
Emmeline was silent.
‘Come on,’ said Robbie cagily, picking up the suitcase and starting for the lake. ‘It’s getting late.’
‘Please understand, Emme,’ said Hannah. ‘It’s like you said, each of us letting the other live the life they want.’ She hesitated: Robbie was motioning her to hurry. She started walking backwards. ‘I can’t explain now, there’s no time. I’ll write: tell you where we are. You can visit.’ She turned, and with one last glance at Emmeline, followed Robbie around the foggy edge of the lake.
Emmeline stayed where she was, hands dug into the coat’s pockets. She swayed, shuddered as a goose walked over her grave.
And then.
‘No.’ Emmeline’s voice was so quiet I could barely hear. ‘No.’ She yelled out, ‘Stop.’
Hannah turned, Robbie tugged her hand, tried to keep her with him. She said something, started back.
‘I won’t let you go,’ said Emmeline.
Hannah was close now. Her voice was low, firm. ‘You must.’
Emmeline’s hand moved in her coat pocket. She gulped. ‘I won’t.’
She withdrew her hand. A flash of metal. The gun.
Hannah gasped.
Robbie started running toward Hannah.
My pulse pumped against my skull.
‘I won’t let you take him,’ said Emmeline, hand wobbling.
Hannah’s chest moved up and down. Pale in the moonlight. ‘Don’t be stupid, put it away.’
‘I’m not stupid.’
‘Put it away.’
‘No.’
‘You don’t want to use it.’
‘I do.’
‘Which of us are you going to shoot?’ said Hannah.
Robbie was by Hannah now and Emmeline looked from one to the other, lips trembling.
‘You’re not going to shoot either,’ said Hannah. ‘Are you?’
Emmeline’s face contorted as she started to cry. ‘No.’
‘Then put the gun down.’
‘No.’
I gasped as Emmeline lifted a shaky hand, pointing the gun at her own head.
‘Emmeline!’ said Hannah.
Emmeline was sobbing now. Great hulking sobs.
‘Give it to me,’ said Hannah. ‘We’ll talk more. Sort it out.’
‘How?’ Emmeline’s voice was thick with tears. ‘Will you give him back to me? Or will you keep him the way you have all of them. Pa, David, Teddy.’
‘It’s not like that,’ said Hannah.
‘It’s my turn,’ said Emmeline.
Suddenly there was a huge bang. A firework exploded. Everyone jumped. A red glow sprayed across their faces. Millions of red specks spilled across the lake surface.
Robbie covered his face with his hands
.
Hannah leapt forward, seized the gun from Emmeline’s slackened fingers. Hurried backwards.
Emmeline was running toward her then, face a mess of tears and lipstick. ‘Give it to me. Give it to me or I’ll scream. Don’t you leave. I’ll tell everyone. I’ll tell everyone you’ve gone and Teddy will find you and—’
Bang! A green firework exploded.
‘—Teddy won’t let you get away, he’ll make sure you stay, and you’ll never see Robbie again and—’
Bang! Silver.
Hannah scrambled onto a higher part of the lake bank. Emmeline followed, crying. Fireworks exploded.
Music from the party reverberated off the trees, the lake, the summer-house walls.
Robbie’s shoulders were hunched, hands over his ears. Eyes wide, face pale.
I didn’t hear him at first but I could see his lips. He was pointing at Emmeline, yelling something at Hannah.
Bang! Red.
Robbie flinched. Face contorted with panic. Continued to yell.
Hannah hesitated, looked at him uncertainly. She had heard what he was saying. Something in her bearing collapsed.
The fireworks stopped; burning embers rained from the sky.
And then I heard him too.
‘Shoot her!’ he was yelling. ‘Shoot her!’
My blood curdled.
Emmeline froze in her tracks, gulped. ‘Hannah?’ Voice like a frightened little girl. ‘Hannah?’
‘Shoot her,’ he said again. ‘She’ll ruin everything.’ He was running toward Hannah.
Hannah was staring. Uncomprehending.
‘Shoot her!’ He was frantic.
Her hands were shaking. ‘I can’t,’ she said finally.
‘Then give it to me.’ He was coming closer now, faster. ‘I will.’
And he would. I knew it. Desperation, determination were loud on his face.
Emmeline jolted. Realised. Started running toward Hannah.
‘I can’t,’ said Hannah.