Nancy bundled the boys into the car. Having grabbed the item from outside Gloria’s shed, there was no way she could stay. Looking at Gloria would have unravelled her resolve. She’d never stolen anything in her life.
There’d been little argument from the boys. Tension had followed them down the narrow staircase. Josie had worn her usual smile, yet the twins had a look that spoke more of drudgery than play. Elliot had stood by the backdoor a moment and cautiously stared at Josie. He’d gripped a folded piece of paper and tucked it into his shorts pocket along with a pencil. Oliver ambled behind him with his hands in his pockets, casting an eye at Josie over his shoulder every other moment.
‘Time to go, you two. It’s getting late.’ Nancy’s voice had been uncommonly high and far too chipper. Fortunately, no one had noticed or at least said nothing to the contrary.
The boys had nodded. Elliot had hurried to escape though Oliver had hovered a while to say goodbye to Josie.
‘I hope you both come to play again,’ she’d sung. Her red hair bobbing as she jumped off the last stair.
Oliver had nodded. ‘We would like that. See ya.’ He followed Elliot out.
‘You can keep my pencil if you want,’ she’d called as the boys disappeared around the doorframe.
The twins waved at Mrs Scarfe and Josie as they stood at the painted gate. They looked safe there, tucked away in their little cottage, pretty and thriving even with the sky deepening by the second. They’d be snuggled in their cosy home for the rest of the evening, unaware of the inevitable horrors like the one that stood propped against the garden shed. Nancy knew that one day, it would bring it all crashing down around Gloria, her pretty cottage, and her smiley daughter. Gloria knew it too. Sympathy came in a wave as Nancy slammed the car into first gear and drove off. Her twins may envy Josie now, but she knew the Scarfes had nothing to be jealous of.
The road curved around the back of the house and emerged at the bottom of the high street. She’d have to drive past the solicitor’s office—she didn’t know another way. The dread of seeing Mr Beamish’s disappointed stare from the front door made her heart sink.
‘Mum, can we stop at the shop for some sweets?’ Oliver’s pink cheeks glowed in her rear-view mirror. ‘Please?’
She couldn’t stop, not today. If she pulled over now, she might never start the engine again. All the determination pumping through her veins would fizzle and go out like a spent birthday candle.
She shook her head. ‘Sorry, love. Not right now.’ She saw the defeat. ‘Look, if you promise to do exactly as I ask today, I promise you, tomorrow you can have sweets, cakes, chocolate, a new toy—whatever you want. Understand?’ Her foot was on the brake, her heart in her mouth, she watched her boys in the mirror.
‘Okay,’ Oliver said. He nudged Elliot, who merely nodded.
‘What’s the matter, Elliot?’
His expression looked alien on his young face. It made her heart hurt. Elliot’s bottom lip quivered, and those big, dark eyes glistened. He was different. She examined his features, saw something she hadn’t seen before, and cursed herself for it. The Priory had changed him. Everything had. Despite herself, she pulled over on the high street in front of a row of red-brick houses with carved date plaques over the doors.
‘Elliot, what is it? Talk to me.’ She quickly wiped her eyes.
‘He doesn’t like Josie,’ Oliver said. ‘She was making fun of him.’
‘I don’t care about her,’ Elliot snapped.
Nancy saw the look on his face; this had nothing to do with Josie. She unclipped her belt, turned, and held out her hand.
‘Now, whatever it is, no matter how small or big, I’m your mum. You can tell me anything.’ She couldn’t think of anything else to say. It all sounded lame in the circumstances. ‘I love you both. You are my world, and I will always be here for you.’
‘And when you’re not?’ Elliot asked.
‘Don’t be silly. I’ll always be here for you.’
‘Dad said that—’
Nancy gripped his hand. ‘No matter what, I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving either of you.’
‘Then the bedsheet man came and took him away.’
Oliver’s lips curled, screwing up his nose. ‘What?’
Nancy gave her boys a slight shake of her head, her lips tight. She couldn’t cry. To lose it all now wasn’t an option.
She nodded, painting a faint smile on her lips. ‘Lots of treats tomorrow then.’
The boys returned the nod. Elliot blinked the tears away.
With a roar, the Hillman pulled away.
The afternoon had dwindled, and it would be dark within the hour. The high street was quieter, deserted; everyone had begun tucking themselves away, locking doors, everyday lives behind small squares of orange glow.
Elliot jumped in his seat. ‘Mum!’
Nancy slammed on the brakes; the Hillman Avenger stopped, screeched to a swift halt in the middle of the high street. A tall man stood in the centre of the road. He faced away from her, in the direction she would go if only the moron would move.
Bloody tourist, she thought.
‘Get out of the road! Idiot. He’s going to get himself killed doing stupid things like that.’ Nancy hit the horn. He was still. ‘What the hell?’ She beeped again, and again, longer this time.
He slowly turned, looking stunned, he raised his hand in apology. Nancy’s heart dropped into her lap as the familiarity struck her.
‘Who is that?’ Elliot pointed straight out the windscreen. ‘He looks just like—’
‘Back in your seat, Elliot.’
Nancy tapped the steering wheel, while her eyes never left the man. His dark eyes flashed as the setting sun hit his white hair. He mouthed his remorse as he stepped back up onto the footpath, his hand over his heart. There was sincerity there. There was something else too. His eyes spoke of the same feeling that swept through her. She knew him, and he knew her.
He stood in the doorway of the solicitor’s office. Mr Beamish wasn’t there. She thanked God, or whoever, for that small mercy, but guilt still ran rife, flushing her cheeks.
Slowly, Nancy pulled away, trying not to look back. She made it as far as the pub, but as she went to turn the corner, curiosity got the better of her. The boys waved and smiled at the man. He waved back.
Deep, heavy defeat was beginning to set in.
‘Keep it together, Nance. You can do this.’
Nancy turned off the village road at the crossroads. The entrance to the Priory lay open before her. The damned oak tree loomed overhead as she pulled on the handbrake.
‘Okay.’ She turned in her seat to face her twins. ‘You need to listen to me very carefully.’
They eyed her cautiously.
‘What’s the matter, Mummy?’ Oliver asked.
‘After what happened this morning, you must promise me that neither of you will ever go near that tree again. Do you promise?’
‘What?’ Oliver looked at Elliot. ‘What happened?’
Elliot shook his head, his eyes wide. His mouth folded in on itself when he glanced at his mother, fear deep in his eyes, he shrugged a nod.
‘The bloody tree,’ Nancy said. ‘You up in the tree, all the leaves and that huge bloody root trying to kill—’
Oliver’s face dropped. He had no memory of it.
‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. Just remember—that tree is out of bounds.’
Elliot gripped his brother’s arm, his fingers a little too eager. Oliver flinched, looking shocked. The oak tree rustled in the growing wind, and storm clouds swept overhead.
‘It’s going to rain, and there’ll be a storm.’ Nancy looked up through the windscreen. ‘Of course, there will. Why wouldn’t there be?’
Her eyes were on the tree as it dwindled in the rear-view mirror. It finally disappeared when she headed over the brow of the hill and met the Priory’s austere exterior.
‘Why does it always have to stare at me like that?’ The words had been to herself, but Elliot shuffled in the back.
As she parked, he put his arms around her shoulders. ‘It will all be okay, Mummy. You have me.’ He squeezed her and pressed his lips to her cheek. ‘I remember what happened,’ he whispered. ‘I saw it. I saw all those people too.’
The engine died, plunging them into ear-buzzing silence. Nancy looked at Oliver, who sat unnaturally straight in his seat. His eyes bored straight through the windscreen to the great door. It was open. She grabbed Elliot’s hand, and Nancy felt the tightness as Elliot’s face screwed up. She turned towards the house.
Lizzie stood on the stone porch, her hands clutched in front of her. Nancy had never noticed it before. Did Lizzie always look like that? Dawson walked up behind her, his hand on her shoulder. Nancy hadn’t paid much attention to him—he was never there for long before he was off doing whatever he did—but Lizzie… Nancy had spent time with her in the kitchen, the drawing-room, had brought breakfast to her room that morning. Nancy shoved the memory, held it back enough not to revisit it.
Lizzie wasn’t of this time—that was the only way to put it. Nancy’s mind rolled over the thought, trying to give it form and meaning. Why had she never realised it before?
Lizzie wore a brown gown that skimmed the floor, thick and laced, with an apron and a white cap on her head. She carried a lantern.
Nancy pulled the keys out of the ignition and raised her hand to wave as Lizzie scanned the grounds, but she didn’t see her. She hadn’t even noticed they had arrived.
‘Okay,’ Nancy mumbled. ‘Best go in.’
The sky had fallen over the Priory like a frozen curtain. Lizzie’s lamp grew brighter against the freezing air. Nancy kept her eye on the maid as she locked the car door. Elliot gripped her hand, squeezing, draining the blood from her fingers.
‘Hey, it's okay, I promise,’ she soothed, casting them both a smile and nod. ‘Let's go inside.’ She sighed and shoved the car keys into her jeans pocket. There it was again. She pulled the acorn free, rolled it in her hands as it caught the lantern’s light.
‘I still have it, Oliver. It’s been in my pocket all day.’
‘What’s that, Mummy?’
‘The little acorn you left me. I found it when I woke up.’ As the words left her lips, she knew it hadn’t been Oliver or Elliot. She hadn’t let herself unravel it until now. She looked back to Lizzie, who had been joined by a boy. He was small, no bigger than her boys, with soft mousey hair. His face spoke of sorrow and loss. His eyes fell on Nancy, pinning her to the spot, and she knew. His pain hit her heart.
‘Mummy?’ Shaking, Elliot grappled with the edge of her jacket. ‘I think we should go inside, now. Please.’
Oliver took the acorn from her palm. ‘This was a gift from Josiah.’ He pointed to the boy, his finger eagerly waving before them.
‘Who?’
‘The boy, Mummy. One of the boys.’
Her attention didn’t linger on Oliver’s words for long before Elliot began to cry. He pushed her forwards, his hand on her back.
‘Now, Mummy, please.’ He grabbed her hand. ‘I won’t let them take you.’
‘Who, love?’
‘Them.’ Elliot was stiff, his face a mask of terror.
Although her eyes dashed about, searching, Nancy saw nothing. She took their hands and flew to the door. When her foot touched the worn stone step, Lizzie turned and looked directly into her eyes.
‘Oh, there you are, madam. I’ve been so worried and fraying my wits, wondering what time you would return. Thank the lord you are all here, home safe and sound.’ Her hand went to her heart, then to her throat. ‘Thank goodness.’
They stood inside the entrance hall—lanterns littered around the area. Dawson’s shadowy silhouette stood to one side, he nodded, bowing slightly, as he carried a bundle of wood and kindling in his arms, then turned towards the drawing-room.
The place was cold, it always was, although tonight, it was more than a natural chill that shivered through Nancy. She tightened her grip on her boys. The air hung around their shoulders, leaving a white, milky residue. Oliver pulled to be released, but no matter what, she gripped harder. Why did it feel different?
‘Where is Est— Lady Hardacre?’ Nancy couldn’t deny the ache in her heart as she asked. ‘Is she…’
‘She is waiting for you in the library, madam. Shall I take the boys for you?’ Lizzie reached for them, so they skipped over to her and slipped their fingers into hers. ‘I’m so pleased you’re home. Did you enjoy the cake I made?’ Her eyes glistened; her voice was soft and tender.
The twins nodded.
‘Yes, thank you, Lizzie.’ Nancy conceded. ‘They are probably hungry again.’ She allowed her heart to loosen its grip just a touch as Lizzie accepted the mantle.
The twins followed her into the kitchen, leaving Nancy on the cold hall floor. She cast her eyes down, expecting to see the familiar Victorian tiles, but they were gone. Instead, she stood on cold flagstones. Her stomach leapt when a cool hand slipped into hers. She heard her boys’ excited squeals and giggles from the kitchen. The hand tightened as tiny fingers closed around hers. Nancy looked down as Josiah stood by her side, his other arm wound tightly around hers.
‘Mother.’