Almost Gone

by Ophelia Night

  Cassie had assumed the woods were within the estate and was taken aback by Antoinette’s reply. But a walk in the woods—that sounded like a nice, healthy outdoor activity. Cassie was sure that Pierre would approve.

  *

  Twenty minutes later, they were ready to leave. Cassie looked into every room as she escorted the children downstairs, hoping she would see Marnie or one of the other housekeeping staff, so she could tell them where she was going.

  She didn’t see anybody and had no idea where to start looking. Antoinette was impatient to leave, jumping from foot to foot with excitement, so Cassie decided that humoring her good mood was more important, especially seeing they weren’t going to be gone for too long. They headed down the gravel drive and out, with Antoinette leading the way.

  Behind a huge oak tree, Cassie saw a block of five stables—she’d noticed them when she arrived the previous day. She walked over to have a closer look and found they were empty and dark, the doors standing open. The field beyond was unoccupied, the wooden railings broken in parts, the gate hanging off its hinges and the grass growing long and wild.

  “Do you have horses here?” she asked Antoinette.

  “We used to, many years ago, but there have been none for a long time,” she replied. “None of us ride anymore.”

  Cassie stood staring at the deserted stables while she absorbed this bombshell.

  Maureen had given her incorrect and seriously outdated information.

  The horses had played a part in her decision to come here. They had been an incentive. Hearing about them had made the place sound better, more appealing, more alive. But they were long gone.

  During the interview, Maureen had stated that there would be an actual opportunity for her to learn to ride. Why had she misrepresented things, and what else might she have said that wasn’t true?

  “Come on!” Antoinette tugged her sleeve impatiently. “We need to go!”

  As Cassie turned away, it occurred to her that there was no reason for Maureen to falsify information. The rest of her description about the house and the family had been fairly accurate and as an agent, she could only pass on the facts provided.

  If so, that meant it must have been Pierre who had lied. And that, she realized, was even more troubling.

  Once they had rounded a bend and the chateau was out of sight, Antoinette slowed her pace, none too soon for Ella, who was complaining that her shoes hurt.

  “Stop whining,” Antoinette advised. “Remember, Papa always says you mustn’t whine.”

  Cassie picked Ella up and carried her, feeling her chubby weight increase with every step. She was already carrying the backpack crammed with everyone’s jackets, and her last few euros in the side pocket.

  Marc capered ahead, breaking branches from the hedges and throwing them into the road like spears. Cassie had to remind him constantly to keep off the tarmac. He was so inattentive and unaware, he could easily jump into the path of an oncoming car.

  “I’m hungry!” Ella complained.

  Exasperated, Cassie thought of her untouched plate of breakfast.

  “There’s a shop around the next corner,” Antoinette told her. They sell cold drinks and snacks.” She seemed strangely cheerful this morning, although Cassie had no idea why. She was just glad that Antoinette appeared to be warming to her.

  She’d hoped the shop might sell cheap watches, because without a phone, she had no means of telling the time. But it proved to be a nursery, stocked with seedlings, baby trees, and fertilizer. The kiosk at the till sold only soft drinks and snacks—the elderly shopkeeper, perched on a barstool next to a gas heater, explained there was nothing else. The prices were freakishly high and she was filled with stress as she counted out her meager stash of money, purchasing chocolate and a can of juice for each child.

  While she paid, the three children rushed across the road to take a closer look at a donkey. Cassie shouted for them to come back, but they ignored her.

  The gray-haired man shrugged sympathetically. “Children will be children. They look familiar. Do you live nearby?”

  “Yes, we do. They are the Dubois children. I’m their new au pair and this is my first day of work,” Cassie explained.

  She had hoped for some neighborly recognition, but instead, the shopkeeper’s eyes widened in alarm.

  “That family? You are working for them?”

  “Yes.” Cassie’s fears surged back. “Why? Do you know them?”

  He nodded.

  “We all know of them here. And Diane, Pierre’s wife, used to buy plants from me sometimes.”

  He saw her puzzled face.

  “The children’s mother,” he elaborated. “She passed away last year.”

  Cassie stared at him, her mind whirling. She was unable to believe what she’d just heard.

  The children’s mother had died, and as recently as last year. Why had nobody said anything about this? Maureen hadn’t even mentioned it. Cassie had assumed Margot was their mother, but now realized her naivety; Margot was far too young to be the mother of a twelve-year-old.

  This was a family that had recently suffered bereavement, been ripped apart by a major tragedy. Maureen should have briefed her on this.

  But Maureen hadn’t known about the horses being gone, because she hadn’t been told. With a stab of fear, Cassie wondered if Maureen had even known about this.

  What had happened to Diane? How had her loss affected Pierre, and the children, and the entire family dynamic? How did they feel about Margot’s arrival in the home so soon afterward? No wonder she could feel tension, taut as a wire, in just about every interaction within those walls.

  “That’s—that’s really sad,” she stammered, realizing that the shopkeeper was regarding her curiously. “I didn’t know she’d died so recently. I guess her death must have been traumatic for everyone.”

  Frowning deeply, the shopkeeper handed her the change, and she put the meager stash of coins away.

  “You know the family background, I am sure.”

  “I don’t know much, so I’d really appreciate it if you could explain what happened.” Cassie leaned anxiously over the counter.

  He shook his head.

  “It is not my place to say more. You work for the family.”

  Why did that make a difference? Cassie wondered. Her fingernail dug into the quick of her cuticle and she realized with a shock that she’d resumed her old stress habit. Well, she felt stressed all right. What the elderly man had told her was worrying enough, but what he was refusing to say was even worse. Perhaps if she was honest with him, he would be more open.

  “I don’t understand the situation there at all, and I’m scared I’ve gotten myself in over my head. To be honest with you, I wasn’t even told Diane had died. I don’t know how it happened, or what things were like before. If I had a better picture, it would really help.”

  He nodded, looking more sympathetic, but then the phone in the office rang and she knew the opportunity was lost. He walked out to answer it, closing the door behind him.

  Disappointed, Cassie turned away from the counter, shouldering her backpack which seemed twice as heavy as before, or perhaps it was the disturbing information the shopkeeper had given her that was weighing her down. As she walked out of the shop, she wondered if she would have a chance to come back on her own and speak to the elderly man. Whatever secrets he knew about the Dubois family, she was desperate to find out.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A frightened scream from Ella jerked Cassie back to her present situation. Looking across the road, she saw to her horror that Marc had climbed through the split-pole fence and was feeding handfuls of grass to a growing herd that now included five hairy, gray, mud-encrusted donkeys. They flattened their ears and nipped each other as they crowded him.

  Ella screamed again as one of the donkeys barged into Marc, knocking him flat on his back.

  “Come out!” Cassie shouted, sprinting across the road. She leaned through the fence and
grabbed the back of his shirt, dragging him away before he could be trampled. Did the child have a death wish? His shirt was soaked and filthy, and she hadn’t brought a spare. Luckily the sun was still shining, although she could see clouds gathering in the west.

  When she gave Marc his chocolate, he stuffed the entire bar into his mouth, his cheeks bulging. He laughed, spitting bits of it onto the ground, before racing ahead with Antoinette.

  Ella pushed her chocolate away and began crying loudly.

  Cassie picked the young girl up again.

  “What’s wrong? Are you not hungry?” she asked.

  “No. I’m missing Mama,” she sobbed.

  Cassie hugged her tight, feeling Ella’s cheek warm against her own.

  “I’m sorry, Ella. I’m so sorry. I only just heard about it. You must miss her terribly.”

  “I wish Papa would tell me where she went,” Ella lamented.

  “But…” Cassie was at a loss for words. The shopkeeper had clearly said that Diane Dubois had died. Why did Ella think otherwise?

  “What did your Papa say to you?” she asked carefully.

  “He told me she went away. He wouldn’t say where. He just said she left. Why did she go? I want her to come back!” Ella pressed her head into Cassie’s shoulder, sobbing her heart out.

  Cassie’s head was spinning. Ella would have been four at the time, and would surely have understood what death meant. There would have been a chance to mourn, and a funeral service. Or perhaps there hadn’t been.

  Her mind boggled at the alternative; that Pierre had deliberately lied to Ella about his wife’s death.

  “Ella, don’t be sad,” she said, rubbing her shoulders gently. “Sometimes people leave and they don’t come back.” She thought of Jacqui, wondering again if she would ever find out what had really happened to her. Not knowing was terrible. Death, though tragic, was at least final.

  Cassie could only imagine the agony Ella must have endured, believing that her own mother had abandoned her without a word. No wonder she had nightmares. She needed to find out the real story, in case there was more to it. Asking Pierre directly would be too intimidating, and she wouldn’t feel comfortable mentioning the subject unless he brought it up himself. Perhaps the other children would tell her their version, if she asked at the right time. That might be the best place to start.

  Antoinette and Marc were waiting at a fork in the road. Finally, Cassie saw the woods ahead. Antoinette had underestimated the distance; they must have walked at least three miles, and the nursery was the last building she had seen. The road had become a narrow lane, its paving cracked and broken, the hedges bushy and wild.

  “You and Ella can go down that path,” Antoinette advised, pointing to an overgrown track. “It’s a shortcut.”

  Grateful for any shorter route, she headed down the narrow path, pushing her way through a profusion of leafy bushes.

  Halfway, the skin on her arms started to burn so painfully that she cried out, thinking she’d been stung by a swarm of wasps. Looking down, she saw a swollen rash had broken out all over her skin, wherever the leaves had brushed her. And then Ella screamed.

  “My knee is stinging!”

  Her skin was swelling into hives, the welts deep red against her soft, pale flesh.

  Cassie ducked too late, and a leafy branch lashed across her face. Immediately the stinging spread and she yelled in alarm.

  From beyond, she heard Antoinette’s shrill, excited laughter.

  “Bury your head in my shoulder,” Cassie commanded, wrapping her arms tightly around the young girl. Taking a deep breath, she barged along the path, shoving blindly through the stinging leaves until she burst out into a clearing.

  Antoinette was screaming in glee, doubled over a fallen tree trunk, and Marc was following suit, infected by her mirth. Neither of them seemed to care about Ella’s outraged tears.

  “You knew there was poison ivy there!” Cassie accused as she lowered Ella to the ground.

  “Stinging nettles,” Antoinette corrected her, before bursting into renewed peals of mirth. There was no kindness in the sound—the laughter was utterly cruel. This child was showing her true colors and she was without mercy.

  Cassie’s surge of rage surprised her. For a moment her only desire was to slap Antoinette’s smug, giggling face as hard as she could. The force of her anger was frightening. She actually stepped forward, raising her hand, before sanity prevailed and she lowered it quickly, appalled by what she had nearly done.

  She turned away, opened her backpack, and rummaged for the only bottle of water. She rubbed some over Ella’s knee and the rest over her own skin, hoping it would soothe the burning, but every time she touched the swelling, it seemed to make it worse. She looked around to see if there was a tap nearby, or a water fountain, where she could run cold water over the painful rash.

  But there was nothing. These woods were not the family-friendly destination she’d expected. There were no benches, no notice boards. No garbage cans, no taps or fountains, no well-maintained paths. There was only ancient, dark forest, with massive beech, fir, and spruce trees looming out of tangled undergrowth.

  “We need to go home now,” she said.

  “No,” Marc argued. “I want to explore.”

  “This is not a safe place for exploring. There’s not even a proper path. And it’s too dark. You should put your jacket on now or you’ll catch a cold.”

  “Catch a cold, catch me!” With a mischievous expression, the boy darted away, weaving swiftly through the trees.

  “Damn it!” Cassie plunged after him, gritting her teeth as sharp twigs tore at her inflamed skin. He was smaller and faster than her, and his laughter taunted her as he dove through the undergrowth.

  “Marc, come back!” she called.

  But her words only seemed to spur him on. She followed doggedly, hoping he would either get tired or decide to abandon the game.

  She finally caught up when he stopped to catch his breath, kicking at pine cones. She grasped his arm firmly before he could run again.

  “This is not a game. See, there’s a ravine ahead.” The ground sloped steeply down and she could hear flowing water.

  “Let’s go back now. It’s time to go home.”

  “I don’t want to go home,” Marc grumbled, dragging his feet as he followed her.

  Nor do I, Cassie thought, feeling sudden sympathy for him.

  But when they arrived back in the clearing, Antoinette was the only one there. She was sitting on a folded jacket, braiding her hair over her shoulder.

  “Where’s your sister?” Cassie asked.

  Antoinette glanced up, seemingly unconcerned.

  “She saw a bird just after you left, and wanted to have a closer look. I don’t know where she went after that.”

  Cassie stared at Antoinette in horror.

  “Why didn’t you go with her?”

  “You didn’t tell me to,” Antoinette said, with a cool smile.

  Cassie breathed deeply, controlling another surge of rage. Antoinette was right. She should not have abandoned the children without warning them to stay where they were.

  “Where did she go? Show me where exactly you last saw her.”

  Antoinette pointed. “She went that way.”

  “I’m going to look for her.” Cassie kept her voice deliberately calm. “Stay here with Marc. Do not—do not—step out of this clearing or let your brother out of your sight. Understand?”

  Antoinette nodded absently, combing her fingers through her hair. Cassie could only hope that she would do as she was told. She walked over to where Antoinette had indicated, and cupped her hands around her mouth.

  “Ella?” she shouted as loud as she could. “Ella?”

  She waited, hoping to hear an answer or approaching footsteps, but there was no response. All she could hear was the faint rustle of leaves in the strengthening wind.

  Could Ella really have gone out of earshot in the time she’d been away? Or had s
omething happened to her?

  Panic surged inside her as she headed into the woods at a run.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Cassie ran deeper into the forest, weaving through the trees. She yelled Ella’s name, praying that she would hear an answer. Ella could be anywhere; there was no clear path for her to have followed. The woods were dark and creepy, the wind was gusting harder, and the trees seemed to muffle her cries. Ella might have fallen into a ravine, or tripped and knocked her head. She could have been snatched by a vagrant. Anything could have happened to her.

  Cassie skidded down mossy tracks and stumbled over roots. Her face was scratched in a hundred places and her throat was raw from shouting.

  Eventually, she stopped, gasping for breath. Her sweat felt cold and clammy in the breeze. What should she do now? It was starting to get dark. She couldn’t spend any more time searching or she’d put them all in danger. The nursery was her closest port of call, if it was still open. She could stop there, tell the shopkeeper what had happened, and ask him to phone the police.

  It took her ages, and a few wrong turns, to retrace her steps. She prayed that the others would be waiting safe and sound. And she hoped beyond hope that Ella might have found her way back.

  But when she reached the clearing, Antoinette was stringing leaves together in a chain, and Marc was curled up on the jackets, fast asleep.

  No Ella.

  She imagined the storm of anger on their return. Pierre would be justifiably furious. Margot might simply be vicious. Flashlights would shine into the night as the community hunted for a girl who was lost, injured, or worse, as a result of her own negligence. It was her fault and her failure.

  The horror of the situation overwhelmed her. She collapsed against a tree and buried her face in her hands, trying desperately to control her sobs.

  And then Antoinette said, in a silvery voice, “Ella? You can come out now!”

  Cassie looked up, staring in disbelief as Ella clambered from behind a fallen log, brushing leaves from her skirt.