THREE YEARS LATER
The sunshine is glorious this summer. I unpacked the picnic basket and set the rug on the freshly mowed grass a little while ago. It was difficult bending over. Being six months pregnant with my daughter has made some movements impossible, especially when it comes to Connor. He’s eighteen months and, now that he’s learned to run, is like Speedy Gonzales around the house. Aunt Prue chased after him through the rose garden while I was setting up. She brought him back a few minutes ago, a smiling little boy with dark hair like his father’s and two cute dimples. He was giggling but behaved and made a beeline for the cupcakes when he saw them.
It’s our first picnic of the summer, a tradition my family started now that Jasper and I reside in Wolvercraft Manor. Dad took two weeks off from work to join us, mainly to see his grandson, who he spoils like there’s no other kid in the world. Aunt Prue and Aunt Violet moved in with us and now live in their own private chamber in the house. I’m eternally grateful that they do. Jasper often goes on tour for months at a time, and Connor can be a handful when his dad is absent.
My little boy sits calmly now in Jasper’s lap, eating his cupcake and making a terrible mess on his clothes. I wonder what he’ll be like when his sister is born and he’s no longer the centre of attention all the time.
Aunt Prue sits beside me and makes the tea. Dad and Aunt Violet pull faces at Connor. My little boy bursts into laughter. Anything brings him into hysterics. Even Xav and Aimee, decked out on the sunchairs, are smiling at how silly their nephew is acting.
Xav broke things off with Zoe not long after they left Wolvercraft Manor. He’d known in his heart that she didn’t love him. After all, Anna hadn’t killed her for a reason. Zoe’s possession had been about frightening me, nothing more. It had been hard for Xav at first, but then he’d met Aimee. The pair had married in the gardens at Wolvercraft Manor, just a small family event, at the end of last year.
After I’d set Anna free on that fateful day, Jasper and I had returned to the manor to find everything completely… normal. Well, as normal as things could have been. My family, Zoe, and the bridesmaids had been sitting in the drawing room, drinking tea and coffee. My family had no recollection of that night in the basement, or how they’d kept me a prisoner in my room, and Zoe and her bridesmaids had returned to full health. For them, they’d simply woken in the morning to discover the storm had passed and the power was back on.
Jasper and I had lied, making up a story about getting up early and going on a long walk to inspect the damage on the island. We’d found the tunnel and made the unfortunate discovery of poor Harriette inside. The police had investigated. Harriette, it seemed, had slipped and fallen in the Hauteville Woods, the rain eventually washing her body into the underground passage. It pained me that no one would ever know the truth. Harriette didn’t deserve the horror that had befallen her. And neither had Anna.
Jasper and I waited a year before we got married, but it came with its obstacles. I could never leave Ashvall for long. The magic that had returned my life had also bound me to the island and to Wolvercraft Manor. We’d discovered that when we went back to London. After three weeks, I’d fallen violently ill. Not even the doctors could understand my symptoms, especially when all my results proved I was perfectly healthy. During that confusing time, I was certain of one thing: I had to get back to the island, to the house… to my home.
Wolvercraft Manor is a part of me now. I live and breathe it. I run historic tours of the house, and yes, I do host ghost tours and parties. Halloween Night at Wolvercraft Manor is a spectacular event for the entire island. I’ve become an advocate for the National Heritage Trust of Ashvall and even do freelance writing on the side for magazines and papers.
I look at my wonderful husband and amazing son and feel… grateful. My eyes travel to my beautiful house, charming and gothic, the white stone bathed in sunlight, the windows staring down at me like inquisitive eyes. I know every room, every furniture piece, every ornament to heart, but there’s one additional piece I had made—a portrait of Anna and Theodosia. The true owners of Wolvercraft Manor now stand proudly above the mezzanine, looking down upon anyone who enters their house.
I’d wanted their portrait put there as a reminder. For a house isn’t just bricks and mortar, or a place to call home. It isn’t just a dwelling where we dream and spend our family time. It’s a space where we conceal agendas. Where we hide and bury lies.
Because in the end, all houses have secrets.