The Perfect Guests

by Emma Rous

  “Okay,” Jonas says cautiously. “Look, we need to get the police out here. You lot go back inside. I’ll grab a torch and run to the village.”

  Nazleen crosses her arms. “There’s no way I’m sitting in a room with her.” She jerks her chin at Leonora. “Not if she just tried to kill us.”

  “How about,” Sadie says, “we lock her in the study? There’s a key in the door. Can we get on with it? I’m freezing.”

  Zach stands aside, and Leonora casts a disdainful look over us all.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she says, but she marches into the house and shuts herself in the study without another word. Zach marches to the door and turns the key. Jonas retrieves a torch from the hall table, but he pauses on the top step next to me as he comes out again.

  “I’ll be as quick as I can.” He searches my gaze. “It really is good to see you again, you know.”

  For a moment, despite my exhaustion, I consider offering to go with him. Anything to avoid setting foot in Raven Hall again. But the sight of Sadie’s shivering figure stops me. She needs me to stay here with her; I’m not leaving her again.

  I nod at Jonas. “Just hurry.”

  He sets off down the driveway at a jog, quickly swallowed by the darkness, only the bouncing beam of his torch showing his progress as he heads toward the road.

  The old man, who up until now hasn’t said a word, hauls himself up from his position on the steps, and he shuffles toward us with a sour expression.

  “Come on, then. Let’s get back inside,” he says. “One of you girls put the kettle on, will you? I’m frozen half to death here. This bloody house.”

  Sadie

  The interior of the house is chilly, the air tainted with lingering, acrid smoke. When Sadie thinks of how warm and welcoming the place felt on her arrival, mere hours ago, it makes her feel off-balance. Let alone the discovery that her mother used to live here with Mrs. Shrew, of all people, who apparently tried to burn them in their beds tonight. Sadie has a thousand questions churning in her mind, and no idea where to start.

  She glances at her mother, sensing this isn’t the best time to ask her for more information. Beth is pale, wide-eyed; she stands just inside the threshold and wraps her arms around herself as her gaze jumps around the dimly lit hall. The other guests have gone straight through to the drawing room, and Sadie can hear Nazleen and Zach arguing over whether to light a fire in the grate. A moment later, Nazleen reappears in the hall, closing the drawing room door softly behind her.

  “Zach’s lighting a fire,” she says with an artificial brightness. “I’ll make some tea.” Her gaze comes to rest on Beth’s hands, and she frowns. “Are you hurt?”

  Beth holds her hands out in front of her and stares at her bleeding knuckles as if they’re not hers. “I was knocking on the windows so hard . . .”

  Nazleen’s tone softens. “Go and sit down. I’m sure Joe won’t be long. We’ll be out of here soon.”

  Beth doesn’t reply. Nazleen hurries off in the direction of the kitchen, and as soon as she’s gone, Beth turns to Sadie.

  “I’ve got to talk to Leonora. I need to know why she did it, why she brought you here. Honestly, Sadie, if I’d had any idea . . .”

  “I know, Mum.” Sadie gives Beth’s hand a gentle squeeze, taking care not to hurt her. “Okay, let’s do it. We’ll go and talk to her together.”

  But Beth still doesn’t move, and Sadie feels a familiar stir of frustration. This is what she remembers, growing up: this closed, fearful expression on her mum’s face. At the first mention of the past—or any other emotionally difficult topic—Beth would retreat into herself, refuse to engage.

  With effort, Sadie keeps her voice gentle. “You can’t run away from things forever, Mum . . .”

  “I know.” Beth nods tightly. “You’re right.” But she trudges toward the study as if she’s been summoned there, as if it weren’t her own idea at all.

  Beth unlocks the door and walks in. Sadie hangs back in the doorway, watching Beth approach the green-topped desk. Leonora sits on the far side of it, her expression one of haughty contempt.

  “What do you want?” Leonora snaps.

  Beth’s voice is strained. “Why did you bring my daughter here? I know you blame me for what happened, but to take it out on my daughter . . .”

  Sadie frowns. What’s this about blame? What did her mother do here, all those years ago?

  “I’ve already told you.” Leonora’s reply is icy. “I didn’t know she was your daughter until just now.”

  Beth draws in a shaky breath. “What happened to Markus . . . It wasn’t my fault . . .”

  A loud bang in the hall sends Sadie spinning around, heart pounding. Someone’s knocking at the front door, but it’s too soon to be Joe returning with the police, surely? She glances back at Beth and Leonora, but they both seem as startled as she is. Nazleen is still in the kitchen, and the drawing room door is closed, so when the door knocker crashes again, Sadie hurries to answer it.

  A woman stands on the top step, her dark hair hanging in front of her shoulders like limp curtains, her face sallow in the yellowish light from the overhead lamps. She stumbles over her words, and Sadie can’t tell whether it’s from cold or from fear.

  “Is everyone okay?” the woman says. “I saw fire, from across the fields, and I was worried—” She glances beyond Sadie, into the hall, and her tone softens. “Oh, I see you’re all right . . .”

  Bemused, Sadie turns around. Leonora is approaching, her hands outstretched to the woman as if she’s half-angry to see her and half pleading with her to go away.

  “Yes, we’re all fine,” Leonora says. “You didn’t need to come. You should go now.”

  But the woman is no longer looking at Leonora. Her gaze has moved past her to fix on Sadie’s mother, and her eyes are enormous, her face slack with astonishment.

  “Beth?”

  Beth

  And in an instant, I’m back floundering under the ice.

  It’s her voice that does it. Despite her stranger’s face—harshly lined, bordering on gaunt in the wash of sickly yellow light from above the front door—I know it’s her from the way she says my name with such wounded disbelief.

  Nina.

  I haven’t seen her for almost three decades. My last memory of her is a hazy one—rough hands tugging me to the surface, Nina’s dark eyes reflecting my own shock, staring at me, as we’re each carried away toward the swirl of blue lights on Raven Hall’s drive . . .

  “Nina.” My voice is a croak.

  Somehow, I close the gap between us, but my heart is pounding, because—what will she say to me? I ran away from the hospital the next day; I never went back. I left her there, with Leonora. I didn’t take her with me.

  I stop in front of her, and we gaze at each other.

  “Is it really you?” she whispers.

  I try to smile. “How are you?”

  Something flickers in her expression, and I prepare myself for an accusation, but instead, she reaches out tentatively for me.

  “Oh, Beth.” She touches me lightly, as if to check I’m real, and then she flings her arms around me. “It really is you. I’m so happy to see you.”

  I return her hug, feeling dizzy. “What are you doing here?”

  Finally, she lets go of me, and she steps back, and then she gives a small laugh. “I might ask the same of you. What’s going on?” She glances at Leonora, and then at the fire-ravaged staircase. “Seriously. Tell me what happened. Is anyone hurt? Have you called the police?”

  “Someone’s gone for help on foot,” Sadie says cautiously, as if not quite sure whether she believes her own words. “They’ll call the police when they get to the village.”

  I reach for my daughter’s hand. “Sadie, this is Nina. She was—” I hesitate, weighing my delight at being reunited with Nina a
gainst my long-term sense of guilt at leaving her behind. “She was like a sister to me . . .”

  Sadie says nothing, merely staring at Nina. I don’t notice Leonora drawing closer until her voice cuts across us.

  “A sister?” Leonora snaps. “How dare you? After what you did to our family. After what you did to Markus . . .”

  My chest tightens. “That wasn’t my fault.”

  “Mum?” Sadie says.

  Leonora spits her words out at me. “You took Nina out onto the ice, that night. You knew Markus would follow. You knew the risks, but you lured him out there anyway . . .”

  “No,” I say. “It wasn’t like that . . .”

  “He was trying to save you,” she says. “And when he fell through . . .” Her voice cracks. “They couldn’t save him.”

  And suddenly I’m back there, in the lake, and I can’t breathe. Fingertips clawing at the edge of the ice, fire roaring in my chest . . . When I finally haul my face up into the air, there’s a single yell from Markus, somewhere close by. Next to me in the dark, Nina’s gasping, coughing. Somewhere in the distance, Leonora is screaming.

  And then I’m waking in the hospital, Leonora looming over me, her face gaunt. “This was all your fault, Beth. Markus died because of you . . .”

  I shake my head, forcing myself to return to the present and blinking back tears. “I didn’t know the ice would break . . .”

  Nina is frowning at Leonora. “Mum, you can’t keep blaming Beth. We went out onto the ice together, that night; she didn’t drag me out there. I followed her, even after she told me to go back.”

  I shoot Nina a grateful look. It’s true. That is what happened. I want Nina to say more, to explain to my daughter that I’m not the terrible person Leonora is accusing me of being. But a door creaks at the back of the house, and a moment later, Nazleen comes into view, carrying a tea tray and looking at us in mild astonishment.

  “What’s going on?” Nazleen says. She raises her eyebrows at Nina. “Oh, it’s you.”

  Nina draws herself up as if waking from a dream. “Oh, you’ve made tea. What a good idea. Shall we go and—?” She indicates the drawing room door.

  Sadie and Nazleen look pointedly at me, and I summon my courage.

  “Nina, we—actually . . .” I grimace. “We asked Leonora to wait in the study until the police get here. We think she . . .” I glance at the blackened staircase. “We’re concerned that she might be responsible for the fire.”

  Nina begins to smile, and then she seems to realize I’m being serious.

  “No way.” Her eyes widen, and she turns to Leonora and studies her as if seeing her in a new light. “No, come on. There must be another explanation . . .” But we can all hear the doubt in her voice. Leonora’s expression remains closed, tight-lipped.

  “She was downstairs,” Sadie explains to Nina. “When the fire started. While we were asleep in our beds.”

  “And someone drugged us,” Nazleen adds. “We’ve all felt ill tonight, and . . .” She glances at me. “Well, Beth told us that Leonora poisoned her own daughter, years ago, so we think . . .”

  Nina draws her breath in sharply.

  “I’m sorry,” I say softly to Nina, acutely aware that Nazleen has no idea Nina is Leonora’s daughter. Images I’ve tried to suppress for years are crowding into my mind: the blue checked dress; the oily residue in the mug; Leonora accusing me of starting the fire in my bedroom when I knew it wasn’t me . . .

  Nina’s voice is faint. “How much longer do you think the police will be?”

  “Not long,” I say.

  There’s a pause, and then Nina makes a gesture of defeat. “Well, okay, then. Put her back in the study if you have to. I’ll come and wait with you, until the police get here.”

  Leonora stalks away and shuts herself in the study again. Nazleen turns the key on her this time, and the tension in my shoulders eases slightly as I follow Nina into the once-familiar drawing room, where Zach and the old man are huddled by a modest fire in the grate.

  Sadie is safe. The police are on their way. And not only is Nina here, she’s chosen to come with me rather than wait with Leonora. Despite everything, Nina still trusts me.

  Leonora rarely visits their local market town—they have everything they need delivered to Raven Hall, after all—but she does enjoy these occasional trips out. Perhaps she should do this more often.

  She buys herself a necklace that catches her fancy. A new shirt for Markus. A Cabbage Patch doll for Nina’s upcoming ninth birthday. Then she pauses in front of the bakery window and eyes up the cakes. She’ll buy three doughnuts. Markus and Nina will be waiting for her to return home for lunch. They can eat these out on the veranda afterward, where Nina can scatter sugar to her heart’s content.

  Tucking the paper bag in with her other purchases, she strolls back to the car park, and that’s when she sees it: the mink-blue Ford Capri.

  Outwardly, she freezes, but inside, her heart is pounding, her muscles tense and ready to run. She scans the car park twice, three times. There’s no sign of the Capri’s owner. A young couple passes her, casting her wary looks, and she darts across to her own car, to start the engine with trembling fingers.

  She needs to get home. She needs to get back to the safety of Raven Hall. Her shopping lies forgotten in the car park as she escapes the town.

  When she reaches the village, she presses her sunglasses more firmly against her nose, and she keeps her gaze fixed on the road ahead, her fingers rigid on the steering wheel, until she emerges on the other side. And then, out on the lane, a good few hundred yards from the top of Raven Hall’s driveway, she sees Nina whizzing toward her on her little blue bike. Leonora slams on her brakes. She leaps out, into the middle of the road.

  “What are you doing?” She grabs her daughter by the arm and shoves her into the back seat of the car.

  “Mummy, my bike—”

  “You mustn’t leave Raven Hall,” she shouts at her. “You must never come this far, not by yourself.”

  “But I was coming to meet you—”

  “What if someone saw you?” She shakes Nina’s arm to make sure she’s listening. “Do you hear me? You stay close to home, okay? You mustn’t come this far again.”

  By the time they pull up outside the house, Nina is sobbing hysterically. Markus gives Leonora a despairing look.

  “Did you have to be so hard on her?”

  She reaches out and tries to stroke her daughter’s hair, but Nina flinches away from her.

  “Daddy will go back and get your bike,” she says, her voice soft now with guilt. “I’m sorry, Nina. I was frightened. You could have been hit by a car; anything could have happened . . .”

  Markus scoops the little girl out of the back seat. “It’s okay, sweetie. Mummy didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Leonora reaches out to touch Nina again as Markus carries her up the steps in his arms, and this time Nina doesn’t turn away. She gazes back at Leonora, watching her shut the front door firmly behind them, watching her lean back against it with a sigh of relief. Even after Markus has set Nina down, wiped her tearstained cheeks, and gone to fetch her a chocolate biscuit, her eyes are still fixed on her mother.

  “You just have to remember,” Leonora tells her, as gently as she can. “It’s very important, Nina. You must never leave Raven Hall without us. It isn’t safe.”

  Sadie

  Sadie still has that hollow feeling in her head, but she’s convinced there’s something else wrong with her too. Her body is on full alert, as if an invisible threat were constantly behind her, ducking out of sight each time she glances over her shoulder. She frowns at the back of Beth’s head as she follows her into the drawing room.

  Zach gazes at Nina as they take their seats, and his expression slides from bemusement to surprise.

  “Oh, hi,” he says to Nina. “I tho
ught you’d left.”

  Sadie knows she’s missed something. She was so thrown to discover the stranger at the door was Nina—the woman her mother describes as once being like a sister to her—that she’d barely registered that Nina looked vaguely familiar too. She studies her now, trying to work out where she’s seen her before.

  Nina accepts a cup of tea from Nazleen, and she smiles at Zach.

  “Yeah, I was hoping for a good night’s sleep, but I had a bad dream, and when I got up for a glass of water, I looked out the window and saw smoke . . .”

  Finally, Sadie recognizes her. “You were the photographer last night, weren’t you?” Her gaze roams over Nina’s hair and face. “You looked different, then. Your hair was covered . . .”

  “Keeps it out the way of the lens.” Nina gives Sadie a puzzled look. “Didn’t you recognize me when you opened the door just now?”

  Sadie shakes her head, frustrated by the sluggishness of her thoughts. “Did you drive back?” she asks. “Maybe we could overtake Joe, bring help back sooner . . .”

  But Nina sighs. “No, I had a drink when I got back. It helps me sleep, you know. I have nightmares fairly often . . .”

  Nina looks distressed for a moment, and Beth reaches across and squeezes her hand. Sadie’s surprised to feel a twinge of jealousy. She’s never had to share her mother with anyone before.

  “So I walked back,” Nina says.

  “You live that close?”

  “Not usually, no. I’m just staying there tonight, for the photography job, you know. The thing is, when I . . . when we . . . got the chance . . . Well, it’s strange but—suddenly I really wanted to come back and see the place . . .” She glances at Beth again.

  Sadie nods slowly. “How did they hire you? Did you meet the owner in person?” She looks around at the other guests. “Who is the owner of the murder mystery company? Does anyone know?”

  She’s met with blank expressions.

  “Do you think . . . ,” Nazleen says. “I mean, if it was Mrs. Shrew who started the fire . . .”