At first I thought I was hallucinating. The events of the morning had turned me upside down and inside out, and it seemed certain that my brain was playing tricks, taking images from The House of Brides and making them real in front of me. I thought I was dreaming, finally succumbing to the nightmares that enveloped the rest of the family. But even after I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again, and shook my head to be sure, the flames were still there. Distant, but there.
Oh my god.
The fire.
Smoke plumes billowed from an upstairs window of Barnsley House, and flames chased the smoke in flashes. It was the flashes that had caught my eye; the brief jolts of red and orange in an otherwise colorless English sky.
Robbie.
I had been so sure I was right. Guilt flooded through my body, turning my limbs to liquid. I had been so sure I was doing the right thing for Robbie that I hadn’t listened to Mrs. Mins’s warnings. Just like I hadn’t listened to my father when he warned me that I was heading down a dangerous path with Mother Miranda. “Mrs. Mins,” I said, quietly at first, aware that she was waiting for my answer to her question. “Meryl.” This was no time for pleasantries.
“What do you know about the notebook?” she repeated, coming in closer still.
“Mrs. Mins! There’s a fire.”
“Ha! If you think I’m going to fall for that . . .”
Mrs. Mins didn’t want to turn around. She didn’t want to take her eyes off me, but she could see the panic in my face. She had no choice. Her shoulders dropped from around her ears, and her head cocked slightly, as if she was trying to decipher something foreign. And only after that did it begin to move from side to side in denial.
“Is it the east wing?” I said hopefully. I knew it wasn’t, though. I wanted to blame the supernatural; I wanted it to be like the ghost stories I had heard. A phantom fire. A talisman from the past. An omen for the living. I knew it wouldn’t be. It was real. And it was my fault.
“It doesn’t look like it. It’s hard to tell.”
I was scarcely able to see anything past Mrs. Mins. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t. The inhospitable landscape and the threat of more storms. The odds were stacked against me.
“I told you not to set the fire! Stupid girl!” For a second I thought she was going to slap me, and then she stepped back. I almost wished she had.
“The nursery wing?” My voice wobbled. More than anything, I wanted her to be wrong.
“Yes.” She started talking to herself. A jumble of names. Robbie. Agatha. Max.
“Robbie. He’ll still be in bed.” I could barely get the words out. “Who did you leave him there with?”
It wasn’t just Robbie, though; there was a chance they were all up there. Sophia, like most teenagers, spent a lot of time in her room, and Agatha, if she was up there alone . . . It didn’t bear thinking about.
Mrs. Mins made a sound unrelated to the rest of her. A rush of air, a crush of sound, an uncontrollable cry. The animalistic sound of a mother whose offspring are under threat. Once, and then again and again. And then just one word. “Max.” I shook my head. Max wasn’t even there. “He asked me to look after the children.”
“Leonard is over there. They’ll be fine,” I cried, even though I didn’t believe it.
“I have to go.” Mrs. Mins started moving away from the shell house. I ran after her.
“I’m coming!”
“No!” She pushed me back, and I reached out for her, pulled at her sleeve. The sound of fabric tearing. She lurched away, her arms pushed out behind her. Tilting forward, barely upright.
“Mrs. Mins!” I shouted. “I’m coming.” I ran after her again, slipping in the mud. “I’m coming,” I said. “The children . . .”
“The children?” she asked. Behind her, I could see Barnsley. Flames licked up the outside wall, and yet the house looked strangely quiet. There should be people on the front lawn by now, raising the alarm. I should be able to see Leonard, or the children, or the fire brigade. But the tree was down, and it would be difficult for the fire brigade to get through. My heart was racing at the thought of what might be. “The children are no business of yours.”
“But Agatha—” I stopped. The name felt clunky on my lips, like a nickname I wasn’t familiar enough to use.
Mrs. Mins looked around and then opened the door to the shell house. “Go inside.” The scorn was clear on her face, the dark below her eyes hollowed deeper with every minute. She was thinking.
One minute, two minutes. I felt a tug on my arm and was being pulled towards the shell house. Mrs. Mins pushed me inside, and I lost my footing, tumbling over the rug on the floor. The door slammed, and I heard a key turn. And then her voice came through the keyhole. “You didn’t think I’d really let you go, did you, Miranda?”