by Emma Rous
“Now,” Leonora said finally. “Let’s see. Shall we plait it?” I nodded, my eyes suddenly stinging.
Deftly, she divided my hair into two sides and wove a pair of plaits, producing blue ribbons from her pocket to tie at the ends. When she was finished, she stepped back, and it was only then that I noticed Markus hovering in the doorway. Leonora’s voice was rather sharp.
“What do you think?”
She was looking at him, not at me. I kept quiet as Markus took a couple of steps into the room.
“Yes,” he said. “That’ll do.”
Then he spun on his heel and was gone.
Leonora turned away from me and picked up her party list. “That’s fine, Beth. You can change back into your own clothes now.”
I felt I’d missed something. I was strangely bereft, as if a spotlight of maternal attention had been trained on me for the last ten minutes, then abruptly turned off. I watched her for couple of seconds, but she didn’t lift her gaze from her list.
“Okay, then.” I hurried back upstairs, dragged the stiff dress over my head, and slid back into my own comfortable clothes before I glanced in the mirror again. The plaits looked all wrong. My reflection gave me a shiver of unease. I tugged off the ribbons and unraveled Leonora’s careful weaving until I had restored my loose blond mane. I flung the dress into the bottom of the wardrobe and went off to find Nina.
* * *
* * *
There was no mention of the dress the next morning, but when I returned to my bedroom after swimming in the afternoon, something made me want another look at it. I creaked the wardrobe doors open and saw that the dress was no longer in a crumpled heap at the bottom: it was back on the hanger in the same place it had been when I first saw it. I banged the doors shut and held my hands against them for a moment. Then I rubbed the goose bumps from my skin, and I went off to look for Nina.
Up in Nina’s turret bedroom, we peered at the activity on the back lawn. A team of men in white tunics was assembling a huge gazebo—Leonora had got her own way, after all. Others were arranging garden furniture into companionable circles on the lawn. Leonora and Markus strolled hand in hand, observing the workers, and I studied the dress Leonora wore—a pretty, knee-length pale green summer dress. Nothing like the thing she’d made me try on last night. She looked elegant and relaxed.
I sighed and turned away from the window. “Do you have parties here a lot?”
“Nah.” Nina was restless, and I sensed she wouldn’t be happy to stay up here for much longer. She, too, turned her back on the window. “My grandparents used to throw parties here all the time, but my parents only do it once every couple of years, when Dad thinks he needs to butter up his clients. He says it brings the work in.”
“Oh.” I chewed my lip. I wanted to ask more, but I didn’t know which grandparents she meant, and since her grandfather seemed to be a touchy subject, it struck me as best not to mention any of them.
“They sent out invites for this one ages ago,” Nina continued, “but I think Mum regretted it afterward.”
“She does seem a bit stressed.” I frowned. “Wait. Are we supposed to dress up for this?” I was thinking of Leonora’s intense gaze as she tweaked at the sleeves of the blue checked dress and straightened my plaits. Maybe she didn’t approve of the clothes I’d brought with me, or perhaps it was my wild hair she didn’t like—it was months since I’d last had a haircut or been bought anything new to wear. I glanced at Nina. Her T-shirt was an expensive brand, her shorts less faded than mine, but the differences weren’t that great, surely? I opened my mouth to ask her why her mum had wanted me to try on the blue dress, but again I hesitated.
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Nina said. “We’re not invited—we’ll have to stay out of the way.” She picked up a book, then put it down. “God, I’m so bored, and there’s no time to swim again and get dry before dinner. Let’s go downstairs.”
We clattered down the spiral staircase and then down the next flight to the wood-paneled hall. From there, we could see into the kitchen, and through the open French doors to the workers on the lawn. Leonora and Markus were now sitting at one of the garden tables, pouring themselves drinks.
“I know,” Nina said. “I’ll show you my dad’s study. He’s got some amazing collections.”
She pushed open a door I hadn’t yet seen behind and took me into a large square room, screened from the bright sunlight outside by a slatted blind. A green-topped desk, as long as a bed, stood over by the window. It held a neat stack of paperwork, a pot of pencils, and one large spread-out diagram of a garden.
“Why doesn’t your mum work in here?” I asked, thinking of the cluttered laundry room that Leonora used.
Nina shrugged. “She’s never liked this room.”
“Are you sure we’re allowed in?”
“Of course.” But she spoke softly, and she pushed the door gently closed behind us.
The wall opposite the door was made up entirely of bookshelves, from floor to ceiling. But only half the shelves held books; the rest were stuffed with all sorts of treasures: enormous glossy shells and bulbous pieces of pottery; a stuffed bird on a branch, and a brightly painted globe; a wooden bowl on three legs and a log carved into the shape of a drum. Two of the other walls were lined with mismatched cupboards and cabinets, and these, too, boasted collections of objects. The room felt more like a museum than an office.
“Here,” Nina said, “I’ll show you . . .” She strolled in a loop around the room. “These are shells from the Philippines. And coral Dad collected when he was diving. These are pearls.”
“They’re amazing.”
“There’s a cello in there.” She patted a black instrument case leaning against one of the cabinets. “And these are fossils—that’s an ammonite, and a trilobite, I think. What do you like best?”
I was tempted to say the cello, but I forced my gaze to move on around the room.
“Those orange spiky shells,” I said. “They remind me of hedgehogs.”
Nina’s grin was delighted. “They’re my favorite too.” With great care, she picked one up. It filled her cupped palms, and she showed me how its top and bottom halves were hinged at the back.
I moved my head to examine it from different angles, keeping my hands clasped behind my back. “I love it.”
A sudden noise outside the door made us both jump—footsteps were passing, accompanied by the chinking of glasses.
Nina hurried to set the shell back down. “The caterers are here.” And just like that, the tour of the room was over. “Come on. Let’s see if there’re any goodies in the fridge. We can sample them to make sure they’re okay for the party tomorrow.”
Sadie
January 2019
Raven Hall’s entrance hall is warm and welcoming after the icy wind outside, and Sadie gazes in awe at the portraits and the huge bronze vases of hothouse flowers and the gorgeous foliage weaving up the banisters of the central staircase. She barely registers the chauffeur setting her suitcase down and leaving.
“What a beautiful house,” she says.
“Bloody hell.” Lady Nightingale lunges toward the floor, trying to catch the cards and papers she’s just dropped.
“Oops,” Sadie says. “Here, let me help.”
Together, they gather it all up. The cards are for the game, Sadie sees; they’re numbered, and they’re now in the wrong order. There are little envelopes, too, all with animal names on them, and sheets of paper similarly mixed up.
Lady Nightingale gives her a rueful smile. “I’m Nazleen,” she says, dropping the cut-glass accent. “You’re one of the other actors, aren’t you? I’m so glad I didn’t do that in front of a real guest. I’ve got so many things to remember; I can’t—” She glances around at the multiple doors leading off the hall. “Do you think there might be a desk or something, down here, where I ca
n sort these out?”
A young man in black tie hovers by Sadie’s suitcase. “Shall I show you up to your room, miss?”
“Do you know if there’s a desk we can use somewhere . . . ?” Sadie asks him, but the young man merely looks anxious.
“We’re not allowed in the other rooms.”
“Right, okay.” Sadie indicates her suitcase. “Well, if you don’t mind taking my case up now, I’ll go up and find it in a minute.” She turns back to Nazleen. “Come on, I’ll give you a hand.”
The two doors that stand already open reveal beautifully furnished interiors—one a drawing room with bright flames crackling in a black marble fireplace, the other a grand dining room with silver cutlery and crystal glasses sparkling on a snow-white tablecloth. They ignore these rooms and work their way down the hall. The first door they try is locked; the next opens into a dimly lit cloakroom filled with racks of coats. Then Sadie finds a door with the key still in it, and she unlocks it.
“In here,” she says. “It looks like it used to be someone’s study.”
Nazleen darts in after her and closes the door behind them.
“The next guests could be here any moment,” Nazleen says, “but it won’t take long.”
She takes the paperwork over to a dusty green-topped desk and spreads it out. Sadie stands in the center of the room and turns in a slow circle, gazing at the many curious objects lining the walls. Shells and corals, mysterious bits of pottery, a heavy-looking cello case. Cobwebs trail from every surface, and Sadie could believe no one’s been in here for thirty years.
“Okay,” Nazleen says. “I’m done. I’d better get back out there.” She consults one of her sheets of paper as they return to the brightly lit hall. “So, Miss Lamb’s room . . . ah. Top of the stairs, turn left. You’re in the second room on the left. You’re supposed to be taken up there to freshen up, and then come back down for drinks at seven.”
“Got it.” Sadie watches Nazleen draw herself up in an effort to regain her former composure. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Nazleen’s smile holds a trace of embarrassment. “I just really want this job, you know? I’m hoping it’ll turn into a long-term contract. So I can’t afford to mess it up.”
Sadie hasn’t considered that the hostess job might not be a one-off, and she wonders fleetingly whether she should try for it herself. Nazleen is a few years older than her and might have more relevant experience, but Sadie rather likes the idea of taking on the hostess role. She peers up the broad staircase. Perhaps she’ll see how this weekend goes first, and then she’ll ask Wendy to make some enquiries.
When she reaches the landing, she looks right, toward the room that appeared to show soot around its window in the photo she saw online. The whole corridor appears to have been recently wallpapered, and its skirting and coving freshly painted—she can still catch a trace of the paint smell in the air. There’s no evidence of any fire damage. She turns left and makes for her allocated bedroom, and her heart lifts when she opens the door. The room is warm and beautifully furnished, with a high bed, a solid-oak wardrobe and drawers, and soft Turkish rugs laid over the carpet. A cheval mirror of darker wood stands in one corner, and a vase of pink roses sits on the bedside table. Her case has been laid out on a trunk near the window.
She strolls to the window and slides her hands down the thick embroidered curtains before parting them to peer out into the night. A pair of headlights is approaching from the direction of the road, and she glances at her watch—it’s almost six thirty. As the car draws closer, she catches a reflection from water to the side of the driveway, and she remembers the lake from the photo, now swallowed by darkness. Another set of headlights appears in the distance, and she wonders how many guests have been invited to play this game.
* * *
* * *
It doesn’t take her long to freshen up. She’s eager to get the evening started, and she listens impatiently to the other arrivals being shown to their rooms. She almost sticks her head out the door to say hello and size them up, but she’s mindful that she’s being paid rather a lot for this, and she probably ought to behave as instructed. At ten to seven, she can wait no longer. She checks her appearance in the cheval mirror, straightens her pearls, and descends to the drawing room.
Nazleen rises gracefully from a sofa near the fire as Sadie enters. The young man who earlier took Sadie’s case to her bedroom now offers her a glass of champagne from a silver tray. Sadie tries not to grin as she takes it; she must remember her part—newly arrived, looking for employment . . . She joins Nazleen by the black marble fireplace, and they perch side by side on the sofa and sip their drinks simultaneously.
“Thanks for helping me out earlier,” Nazleen murmurs.
“No problem.”
Sadie’s gaze roams around the room. Crystal wall lights and table lamps lend the air a shimmering quality, and there are more vibrant flowers in here, and abstract sculptures on the polished wooden side tables. She runs her free hand over the velvet of the sofa. So much in here looks brand-new. Such a contrast to that dusty study.
“How many guests are coming?” she asks.
“Seven.” Nazleen touches her necklace, as if checking it’s still there. “Well, six of you, plus me. I know I’m the hostess, but I don’t know the answer to the mystery either. It’s my husband who gets murdered.”
Sadie flinches, then feels silly. “In the game,” she says. “Of course.”
“Yes.” Nazleen laughs softly, her gaze on the door. Male voices are drifting closer; it sounds as though at least two guests are making their way down the stairs. “In the game, I’m the lady of the house, and my husband has—well, I’m not supposed to tell you that yet. But you have to work out who’s responsible and how it happened.”
“Excellent.” Sadie, too, turns an expectant face to the door. “It’s going to be fun.”
Nazleen rises just as gracefully as she did before, and her upper-class accent has returned in full force.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” she says as she crosses the room on her narrow heels.
Sadie sips her champagne like a new-to-the-area young lady hoping to land a job, and she thanks her lucky stars for whatever made the company pick her for this outrageously civilized role.
Then she, too, rises to greet the new arrivals.
Beth
July 1988
On the Saturday—the day of Leonora and Markus’s party—Nina sent me upstairs after lunch to grab some blankets and cushions from her bedroom.
“Why?” I said.
“It’s a surprise. I’ve got to persuade Mum first.” Nina grinned at me. “But I always get my own way in the end.”
By the time I returned with an armful of blankets, Nina was cheerfully packing a selection of party food into a big wicker basket, and she added bottles of Coke and a torch, and a game of Scrabble.
“Where are we taking all this?” I asked, but she merely laughed.
“It’s a surprise; I told you. Just wait and see.”
Leonora hurried across the kitchen from her office. “I’m going to get changed now.” She hesitated at the door, looking back at us. “Nina, I’m really not sure about this. You’ll get cold and bored, and you know you can’t come down halfway through . . .”
“It’ll be fine, Mum,” Nina said, rolling her eyes, and she grabbed the basket and headed out into the garden. “Come on,” she called back to me, her dark eyes sparkling. “Trust me, Beth. You’re gonna love it.”
I followed her across the lawn, straight to the back of the garden, but I hesitated as she deliberately stepped into the flower bed and squeezed her way between two dense bushes farther back in the border. It was only when I spotted the ladder, partially hidden in the foliage, that I realized what she’d brought me to.
“Oh, you’ve got a tree house!” I peered up at the w
ooden planks among the branches. “This is so cool. It reminds me of”—I’d been about to say the Famous Five, but I tried to think of something more grown up—“Swiss Family Robinson.” I felt a twinge of embarrassment at the random comparison, but one of the great things about Nina was that she never tried to make me feel small.
“I know. It’s amazing, isn’t it?” She set the basket down and scrambled up the ladder. “You’ll have to pass everything up to me. Careful. Don’t shake the Coke.”
We arranged our blankets and cushions with care, and then we sprawled out in our little hideaway and peered through the gaps between the planks and surveyed the garden.
“It’s brilliant,” I said. “We’ll be able to see everything from up here. This is a genius idea.”
“I know.” Nina grinned. “I can’t believe Mum thinks we’ll get bored—there’ll be way too much interesting stuff to watch. I can’t wait to see them all arrive, and the ladies’ dresses, and their shoes, and their hair, and their jewelry . . .”
“Do you think anyone’ll see us up here?”
“Nah, they’ll all be drinking too much, won’t they? And they’ll be too busy gossiping and eyeing one another up to notice us.”
I liked this way of joining in the party—as a hidden observer. It felt thrilling, almost illicit, even though Markus and Leonora knew we were up here. Perhaps this is what it’s like to be a spy, I thought, and I scanned the garden, assessing the current situation. I wondered how much longer we had ’til the first guests arrived.
Tables and chairs sat in clusters on the lawn and under the giant white gazebo. Strings of white light bulbs hung in romantic loops from tree branches and all along the veranda railings, already glowing softly even though we still had hours of daylight left. At one end of the veranda, a bar had been set up, and a red-cheeked man in a white shirt and black bow tie was bustling around it. Nina and I had examined it surreptitiously on our way past: bottles in every different color; glasses in every size and shape imaginable; dishes of lemon and lime segments; mint leaves; glacé cherries; cubes of pineapple speared onto cocktail sticks . . .