by Emma Rous
Nazleen nods, as if trying to convince herself. “Or maybe she just thought the house was too spooky . . .”
Sadie gives her a sharp look. “Or she realized she had a lower-grade bedroom than the rest of us.”
Nazleen looks surprised. “Does she? That’s nothing to do with me.”
Footsteps thump up the stairs, and Zach appears. He looks hopefully at Sadie.
“Any sign?”
Sadie shakes her head. “Mrs. Shrew thinks she might have walked into the village.”
Zach raises his eyebrows. “Seriously? That’s a good half-hour walk.”
“Look—why don’t you check the rooms up at that end?” Sadie indicates the fire-damaged end of the corridor with a twinge of guilt. “And, Nazleen, you check the rest of the rooms at this end. And I’ll go and look in the—er.” She frowns at the end door. “In the tower. And then we’ll meet downstairs in the hall if we don’t find anything.”
“Okay.” Zach’s already turning away. Nazleen opens the door to Sadie’s room, calling Genevieve’s name. Sadie hurries to the end of the corridor, and this time she heads straight up the spiral staircase before she can change her mind.
Beth
December 1989
Caroline’s Christmas visit fell early in December, because she was much too busy to fit me in later in the month. I’d bought her a silk scarf from my allowance, and she gave me some sheet music for my violin that she told me she enjoyed playing herself. I almost asked her if it was a joint Christmas and early birthday present, since she’d missed my birthday entirely the previous February, but I knew that would be rude, and in fact, the music was perfect—a genuinely welcome gift from one violinist to another. But when I went to give her a grateful hug, she flinched away, as usual.
After fifteen minutes of stilted conversation in the drawing room, Markus suggested Caroline might like a little walk by the lake before she headed home. Caroline looked so relieved at the word home, she sprang up immediately, and Markus winked at the rest of us behind her back.
“Leonora might be best staying indoors, actually,” he said. “She’s brewing up a bit of a cold, I think.”
Leonora gave him a faint relieved smile, and we left her behind, although I didn’t really believe she was coming down with anything. Once we reached the lakeshore, Markus told Nina and me to go ahead and take the boat out, if we were brave enough.
“The lake’ll freeze soon, with a bit of luck,” he said, “and then there won’t be any rowing ’til it thaws.”
Relieved to have an excuse to escape Caroline’s strained attempts at friendliness, I followed Nina onto the dock, and we leaped down into the boat. Nina grinned at me as she took the oars, and I was reminded forcefully of the fun we’d had during my first summer at Raven Hall. I smiled back at her, and suddenly the day seemed a whole lot brighter.
Nina waited until we were past the island before she set the oars down.
“So, what’s going on between you and Jonas?”
“Nothing.” I knew I’d answered too quickly. “I mean, why do you even ask? You know Jonas and I are just—”
She tilted her head. “Friends?”
I nodded, frowning. “Friends. Exactly.”
“I wish . . .”
“What?”
“I just wish you’d be honest with me, Beth. I wish you’d tell me what you’re thinking. You go around all wrapped up in your own thoughts all the time. It’s like sometimes you think”—she hesitated, gazing at me earnestly—“that I’m your enemy. Like you don’t trust me. Or Mum and Dad either.”
“That’s not true.” I tried to laugh. “Of course I trust you.” But a series of memories pulsed in my mind: Leonora thrusting the blue checked dress into my hands; Markus’s wary expression when he came back from his diving trip a few weeks ago; the oily film at the bottom of Nina’s hot-chocolate mug. I blinked them away. “You know I’m very happy here.”
“Are you?” Nina said quietly. “Are you really?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Ah, come on, can we stop this now? I just want us to be friends. All of us. Jonas too.”
She scrambled forward and indicated for me to switch places. “Fine. Your turn to row, then.”
I seized the oars, glad of the opportunity to use my muscles. I took us on a circuit around the island, and it was a while before I looked across to the dock and saw that Markus and Caroline had left us to it. By the time Nina and I returned to the house, Caroline had already set off for home.
* * *
* * *
Markus was right about two things. Leonora was coming down with something. She spent days locked away in her bedroom until she felt well enough to rejoin us downstairs, and even then, she remained pale and withdrawn. And the lake did freeze over the following week.
Markus announced he was taking the rest of the month off as holiday. He checked the ice obsessively each morning, drilling boreholes, checking air and water temperatures, and goodness knows what else. His excitement radiated through the house.
“We’ve been getting fewer and fewer properly cold winters,” he told me. “Last year was terrible, but this year”—he beamed at me—“with a bit of luck, we’ll be out there on our skates before New Year’s Eve. You’ll love it, Beth. A proper Fenland tradition. And you’re a proper Fens girl now, aren’t you?”
I laughed, slightly unsettled by the intensity of his gaze. “I suppose so.”
“You can come out with me tomorrow,” he said, “if you like. I’ll show you how I check the ice depth . . .”
“Oh, leave the poor child alone,” Leonora said from the doorway. “Beth, Jonas is on the phone for you.”
I was relieved to escape to the hall, and I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Beth? It’s Jonas.”
I smiled. “I know.”
“Have you got plans for Christmas Eve? ’Cause my mum’s having a little party here, and I wondered . . .”
“What does he want?” Nina’s voice from the staircase was sharp. I turned to look at her. She held my gaze.
“Nina’s here too,” I said into the mouthpiece.
“Well,” Jonas said, “she’s invited, too, of course.”
I tilted the phone away slightly. “Jonas’s mum is having a little party on Christmas Eve. He wants to know if we’d like to go.”
“Mu-um!” Nina called.
A moment later, a cross-looking Leonora appeared in the hall. “What, darling? There’s no need to bellow for me. You should come and find me.”
“Jonas’s mum is inviting us to a party at his place on Christmas Eve,” Nina said.
From the phone by my ear, I heard Jonas groan.
Leonora fixed me with a stern look. “Tell him it’s kind of him, but no, Beth. Anyway, we do our own thing here on Christmas Eve.” She took stock of my disappointed face, and her tone softened slightly. “It’s nice of Stephanie to invite us, but we just can’t make it. Do thank them, all the same.”
I waited for her to return to the drawing room, and then I said to Jonas, “Did you get that?”
“Bloody Averells,” he said.
I glanced up to where Nina still hovered, watching me.
“Funny you should say that,” I said sweetly. “I was thinking the same thing.”
When I hung up, Nina hurried down to the hall and caught both my hands in hers. “I’m sorry. That was mean of me. I’m really sorry, Beth. If you want to go—or maybe we could both sneak out and go . . .”
But it was hardly the sort of party I wanted to go to anyway—a boring adult affair in the middle of the day at the village B and B. I wanted loud music and dim lights and sweet cider and Jonas’s arms around me.
“It doesn’t matter.” I gave her a weary look. “Honestly. I’m sure we’ll have a nice time here.”
Nina was very c
hildish, sometimes. I pitied her. But underneath that, I felt a sort of protectiveness toward her. She’d grown up in this strange, isolated bubble at Raven Hall, and she didn’t know any different—it wasn’t her fault. Perhaps, when I eventually left, I’d persuade her to come with me.
* * *
* * *
On Christmas Eve, the family had a tradition of exchanging one small present after dinner to kick-start the festive celebrations. I’d bought my offerings on our shopping trip with Leonora in November, and I’d wrapped them carefully: rose-scented hand cream for Leonora, a bag of his favorite toffees for Markus, and a notebook with daisies on the cover for Nina. I was looking forward to seeing them opened.
Nina gave out her presents first, and then I gave out mine. We all cooed over our gifts and held them up for one another to admire. Then Leonora looked at Markus.
“Dad did the Christmas Eve shopping this year,” Leonora said, raising her eyebrows in mock alarm.
“Uh-oh,” Nina said, and both she and I giggled.
“Just you wait,” Markus said, and with a flourish, he produced two identically wrapped boxes. He switched them between his hands with a show of consternation. “Which one’s which? How to tell?” He held one out to each of us. “Luckily, they’re both the same.”
We tore into the paper, eyeing each other’s as much as our own and laughing in our competition to see which of us could reveal the contents first.
“Oh,” I said.
“Wow,” Nina said.
We both tilted our boxes toward Leonora to show her. Inside each was a delicate gold charm bracelet twinkling with reflections from the dining room lights.
We lifted them out and helped each other to fasten them around our wrists.
“They’re beautiful,” I said.
“Thanks, Dad.” Nina ran around the table to give Markus a hug.
“The charms represent the wildlife around the lake.” Markus’s voice was gruff with a sudden shyness. “There’s a flag iris, a greylag goose, a reed warbler . . .” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m glad you like them. And for my beloved wife—” He produced a third box, which turned out to hold a beautiful necklace, the same shade of gold as our bracelets.
“These aren’t small presents,” Leonora said quietly.
Markus looked uncomfortable. “I know, but”—he turned to Nina and me—“I thought they’ll always remind you of Raven Hall, when you’re grown up. And you know, maybe you’ll want to pass them on to your own daughters, for their sixteenth birthdays, say. I just thought it was a nice idea . . .”
He turned back to Leonora and helped her fasten the necklace under her hair. She didn’t look as happy with her gift as I thought she ought to, but that was Leonora for you. She wasn’t like normal people. I knew that by now.
She’s in love.
This is nothing like the childish feelings she had for the young doctor. What she feels for Markus is real love. Proper, soul-mate, meeting-of-minds, forever-and-ever love.
It took her a while to hitch a lift to anywhere even vaguely close to Raven Hall today. She’s now taking the field route around the village rather than risking being recognized walking down the high street. Not that she doesn’t have every right to be here—it’s a free country, isn’t it? But she can’t bear the thought of questions—or worse, pity—from the people she used to feel mildly sorry for because they all live so clustered together in the village instead of somewhere proud and magnificent like Raven Hall.
But she doesn’t mind taking the long route; she’s content to be alone with her thoughts. The sun is high, and her T-shirt sticks to her skin, but she smiles to herself as she strolls along. She’s thinking of Markus.
On their third meeting by the lake, she told him an edited version of her life story—that her father had died last year; that she now lodges with a distant relative of her mother’s, who barely speaks to her from one week to the next.
“I feel like my whole life was stolen from me,” she blurted out, in an unguarded moment as they watched a hobby catching dragonflies above the lake. “Mum, then Dad, then my home . . .” She bit the rest of the sentence back; this was dangerous territory. What would Markus do if he discovered she was the “poor girl” who’d been turfed out of Raven Hall when his girlfriend’s parents bought the place? Would his sympathy be replaced by awkwardness? Would he feel obliged to tell his girlfriend’s parents he’d found this strange, traumatized young woman roaming around their property? And what would they do then? Prosecute her for trespassing? Or worse—offer her pity and fake condolences?
Markus tried to comfort her. “I expect things will look brighter next year. If you do apply to art college . . .”
But he inadvertently touched on her greatest fear, and a tear slid down her cheek.
“What if things never look brighter, though? What if I can’t ever move on? I’m just so angry at the man who did this to us.”
Markus looked surprised. “Who?”
She wiped at her cheeks. “The Backstabber. That’s what my dad used to call him. He was supposed to be my dad’s friend, but after Mum died, he accused my dad of making mistakes at work, of being drunk.” It was a relief to say it out loud, to feel listened to. “He got my dad sacked, in the end. And he—he—”
“What, Lara? What did he do?”
“He kept trying to buy our house from us. That’s what he was after, all along . . .” She covered her face with her hands, forcing herself to stop talking before she blurted out anything more incriminating—that that was why she was here, the day she and Markus first met: she had been spying on her beloved former home, to see whether it was the Backstabber who’d finally succeeded in buying it.
“Hey.” Markus shuffled closer to her, and even that single word managed to comfort her. He touched her lightly on her arm. “You can always come and stay with me, you know. In London. If your mum’s cousin, or whatever she is, doesn’t mind . . .”
And so, the following weekend, she told her mother’s relative she was going to meet up with an old friend, and she took the train to London. Markus cooked for her in his student flat, and he made her laugh, until she forgot about her sadness for the first time since her father died.
And a couple of weeks later, when she went back for a second visit, Markus opened the door with a charmingly sheepish expression.
“What is it?” she said. (She can tell when his emotions are high, even when he tries to hide it. She knows this is a sign they’re meant to be together.)
He waited until the door was shut, and then he blurted it out.
“I’ve broken up with Kat.”
“Oh, that’s—I’m so sorry.” She tried to look sympathetic, but her heart swelled with a joy that felt tainted—like relief mixed with triumph. The young woman in the orange crop top still had Raven Hall, but she’d lost Markus; perhaps there was some fairness in the world after all. “Why?” she asked. “What happened?”
“Ah.” Markus scrunched up his face. “We weren’t that well suited, really. We wanted different things in life . . .” He hesitated, as though tempted to say more, and she leaned closer to him.
“I think,” she said, “we’re well suited. You and I. Don’t you think?”
“Lara.” There was an apology in his smile. “I really like you, but if we’re going to do this, we have to take it slowly. I’m four years older than you. You’ve been through a tough few years, a lot of trauma. I don’t want to . . .”
She tried to kiss him then, but he held her back gently.
“Seriously,” he said. “I mean it. Slowly.”
“But I’m eighteen.”
“I just . . .” He searched her gaze. “I feel like there are things you’re not telling me.”
Her heart lurched. He knew. She didn’t try to deny it. In fact, she almost blurted it all out, then and there: that her name wasn’t re
ally Lara; that the home she’d lost was Raven Hall.
“There is something I haven’t told you . . . ,” she began.
But he drew her into his arms, as if she were some injured creature he’d found by the shore of the lake. “It’s okay. There’s no rush. I won’t ask you any more questions. Let’s just get to know each other, until you’re ready, okay?” He’d stroked her hair softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
While he cooked them dinner that evening, she pottered around his flat and cleared away all evidence of the former girlfriend. Hair bands, magazines, a silver earring, an alarming pair of black lacy knickers, and—worst of all—a photo of Markus and Kat together, sitting in the garden at Raven Hall. She collected it all into a carrier bag, and, when Markus wasn’t looking, she stuffed the whole lot into the kitchen bin.
That was two months ago, and she’s spent almost every weekend with Markus since. And he’s been true to his word—he hasn’t asked her any more questions. But as she cuts across the field now in the baking afternoon sun, she smiles to herself. She’s going to tell him everything next weekend. She trusts him completely; she knows he’ll understand why she lied.
She was planning to do it this weekend, but he rang her a couple of days ago, full of apologies. His mum’s health is deteriorating, so he’s gone to visit his parents instead. She doesn’t mind. She completely understands, but the prospect of an empty weekend unsettled her, so she decided to pay one last visit to Raven Hall. Mostly, she wants to say a final good-bye to her beloved home. But it’s true; she wouldn’t mind catching a glimpse of the girl in the orange crop top looking just a little bit miserable.