The whole encounter with Nate had only lasted a couple of minutes, but it had been enough to completely throw me off-kilter. There was no way I was going to befriend the first motorbike-riding, leather-jacket-wearing, cocky cliché with a nice smile that strolled into the kitchen. And I made a mental note to complain to Aunt Meredith about the lack of security at Dudley Hall. If anyone was free to walk up to the house and let themselves in through the back door then it was a miracle no one’d been murdered in their sleep yet.
It took me ages to make myself breakfast, I was so flustered. I couldn’t find a pan to boil eggs in. And then I burnt my toast and had to start again. Meeting Old Nell and her biker teenage nephew in the space of half an hour had not been the start to the day I had expected. No surprise that they were related – if the rest of the village were half as rude then it was going to be a long few weeks at Dudley Hall. And I couldn’t help but feel betrayed by Aunt Meredith. Nate knew I’d been in hospital. She’d clearly blabbed about me being in Warren House to anyone who’d listen. By the time I had finally cooked my breakfast and eaten it, I’d already resolved to ignore Nell, Nate and any other boorish villager I might be unfortunate enough to meet whilst I stayed at Dudley Hall. I couldn’t afford to feel so distracted. I had to focus on getting better and writing my screenplay.
It was late morning by the time I finally made it outside into the sunshine with my notepad and a stack of pens. I needed to find a few good writing spots. I needed shade and I needed somewhere I wouldn’t be easily disturbed, somewhere far enough away from the house. I briefly considered sitting underneath the old weeping willow by the stream, but it was still in view of the house. I wanted to be somewhere I knew no one would find me straight away. I followed the small brook as it wound its way through my new garden. Sure enough, after following the stream for a few minutes I saw the old wooden boathouse perched on the riverbank that I’d spotted from my bedroom window the night before. My face widened with a grin – a boathouse would be a perfect place to write.
The door bolt was rusted but unlocked, and after a few frustrating minutes of struggling I managed to pull it open and swing back the boathouse door. Inside was cool and damp and smelt of stale river water. One ancient-looking boat lay on the wooden decking of the boathouse. The boat was rotten and filled with holes, its paintwork long chipped away. I walked around the small vessel slowly. On its helm was the name The Lady of Shalott.
‘Named after the poem,’ I whispered to myself. ‘“The curse is come upon me,” cried the Lady of Shalott.’ I sat down on the boathouse floor, the wooden boards creaking as I leant against the rickety old wall and made myself comfortable. The gentle sound of water splashing against the boathouse gave me the perfect soundtrack to sit and write. I opened my notepad, clicked a biro into action and began to put pen to paper.
I sat and wrote for hours. There, on the floor of the rotting old boathouse, I began to stitch together the threads of my story. I decided not to set it at Warren House. I heard once that you should write about the things that you know best. And other than ‘head hospitals’ the one thing I knew best was boarding schools. I’d lived in a boarding school for most of my life – instead of parents I’d had housemistresses and matrons, and instead of home-cooked meals I’d had cold, stodgy school food to nourish me. So I started to write a story set in a boarding school – a school that had once been a grand country home. I created a set of characters based on girls I’d met during my time at school – orphans, spoilt rich kids and those other girls who’d just been put into school and then forgotten about until the holidays rolled around. I didn’t get around to writing any proper scenes, I just jotted down my ideas about the characters that would appear in my screenplay.
By the time I re-emerged from the boathouse and headed back to the main house the murder mystery guests were beginning to arrive. The driveway was steadily filling up with cars, and the sound of feet scrunching down on gravel and car boots slamming filled the air as I came into the back of the house through the kitchen door. I’d been in Dudley Hall for less than a day, and I’d taken an instant dislike to the draughty halls and dramatic history of the place, but I suddenly felt uneasy at the thought of sharing the old house with strangers.
I suppressed the uneasy feeling in my chest as I walked further into the kitchen. Nell was sweating over a boiling pot at the stove. She’d ditched the colourful clothes she’d been wearing earlier and was now in what looked like a Victorian peddler-woman’s outfit.
‘Mmm, what’s for dinner?’ I asked her.
‘Suzy!’ Aunt Meredith stepped in front of me. She was dressed like a Victorian aristocrat. Her hair was pinned up elegantly on the top of her head and she wore a stiff cream dress with pearls sewn down the front of it. Her skirt pooled out like a lampshade and hovered just above the floor. She did not look pleased to see me at all. She spoke quickly, without a pause for me to interrupt. ‘How are you? I’ve been looking for you everywhere. What have you done to your hair? Well, no time to worry about that now. You need to go upstairs and change please. And make sure you cover up that red hair. We can’t have the guests seeing you like that, it’s important that we all stay in character the whole time guests are here. Helps create a bit more atmosphere.’
I grimaced. This did not sound like fun. ‘I told you, I don’t want to take part in the party.’
‘Well, I’m afraid there’s no one else to play the part,’ Aunt Meredith said bluntly, ignoring the daggers I was shooting at her with my eyes. ‘As long as you’re staying here then you need to pull your weight. Be thankful I don’t have you scrubbing the toilets.’ As if I’d let anyone make me scrub a toilet! ‘Besides,’ she sighed. ‘The distraction might be good for you.’
Aunt Meredith was the second person that day to suggest I needed distracting. First Nate and now her. However, the thought of having something to take my mind off an evening alone in my stark white room with nothing but my haunted thoughts for company did seem appealing.
‘I don’t have anything to wear,’ I pointed out.
‘I’ve put a scullery maid outfit on your bed,’ she said. ‘Quickly go upstairs and change and meet us all in the library in half an hour so we can introduce all the characters to the guests.’
‘A scullery maid?’ I said with obvious disgust. ‘Can’t I at least have a nice dress like yours?’ I complained.
‘The scullery maid is the murder victim,’ Aunt Meredith said with a smile. ‘I know you said you didn’t want a part to play, that you had too much to do. But all you’ll need to do is come down for the meet and greet in half an hour and then do your best blood-curdling scream towards the end of dinner. Then I’ll need you to act dead for twenty minutes or so whilst the guests inspect your body. Then you’ll be free for the rest of the weekend. Although I’d prefer it if you could stay in costume for as long as the guests are here – just in case one of them sees you.’
There was no way I’d be spending the weekend in a scullery maid’s costume. I’d sooner spend every waking minute locked away in the boathouse so no one saw me. But the opportunity to scream the house down and play a murder victim sounded too good to be true. However, I wasn’t about to admit that to Aunt Meredith.
I rolled my eyes and stomped out of the kitchen. ‘Fine! But just for this weekend. I won’t do it again.’ I slammed the kitchen door behind me for added effect and then allowed myself a small smile once I was out of sight. Spending an evening as a murder victim in Dudley Hall was going to be fun.