Joss was out of breath when he met Sam by the cottage gate.
‘What’s wrong?’ he puffed. ‘Nessie said Ruby was hurt?’
‘I think she’s had a fall,’ Sam said, leading him to the back of the cottage. ‘The ambulance is on its way but I’m worried. She’s not moving.’
Joss’s expression was grim as he peered through the window. ‘Stand back,’ he told Sam, waving to one side as he lined himself up with the back door.
‘What are you doing?’ Sam asked in alarm. ‘Don’t you have a key?’
He shook his head. ‘I gave it back when I left the pub. Now keep out of the way. I don’t want you to get hurt too.’
Sam did as she was told, glancing down the side-path for Franny or the ambulance. There was no sign of either and every minute that passed could mean the difference between life and death for Ruby. She watched as Joss bunched his muscles and put his shoulder to the door.
The woodwork creaked but held under the first barge. Joss clenched his jaw and hit the door again, and again. On the third hit, the wood gave way and the door flew back. Joss tumbled inside.
‘Are you okay?’ Sam called, hurrying inside the cottage after him.
Joss rubbed and flexed his shoulder. ‘I’m fine,’ he said shortly. ‘Check Ruby.’
Sam knelt down carefully among the shattered glass and peered at Ruby. She was pale but breathing, her eyes fluttering beneath her strangely naked eyelids. ‘She’s still with us,’ Sam said. ‘Should we try to move her? Put her into the recovery position?’
There was a clatter from outside and Franny appeared, leading the paramedics. ‘Thank God,’ Sam said, exchanging a relieved look with Joss.
Sam went with Ruby in the ambulance. She’d wanted to speak to Joss, to thank him for his help but he’d been deep in conversation with Franny and there’d been no time, anyway; understandably, the paramedics were keen to get Ruby to hospital as soon as possible. They thought she’d fallen in the kitchen, hitting her head on the tiled floor and knocking herself unconscious. What was really worrying them was a suspected fractured hip but they couldn’t confirm without an X-ray.
So Sam had contented herself with sending a grateful smile Joss’s way as the ambulance doors closed, pleased when he’d nodded in reply. Maybe, just maybe, it was the start of a ceasefire between them.
Nessie stayed behind to clear up the mess. Franny offered to help but Nessie saw a gleam in the other woman’s eye that suggested she was itching to nose around and she didn’t think Ruby would appreciate that so she declined.
She packaged up the broken glass – from a bottle of decent Chablis – and mopped up the spilled wine. There was an empty gin bottle on the side, which she took out to the recycling bin and what she saw there made her pause. The black basket had five empty wine bottles and another large gin bottle nestling at the bottom. The recycling van called round on Thursday mornings, suggesting that this was two days’ worth of drinking for Ruby. Nessie bit her lip. She hadn’t realised it was so bad. No wonder Ruby had fallen.
Back inside the cottage, she opened up the cupboards, searching for cleaning products. There wasn’t much in the way of Flash but she found plenty of alcohol. It was everywhere she looked: stashed under the sink, in the cupboards next to the tins of soup, in the freezer. She even found a half-empty bottle of gin beside Ruby’s bed, a glass with a shrivelled-up slice of lemon at the bottom next to it.
Nessie collected everything she found and put it on the draining board. There were twenty-eight bottles of wine, port, vodka and gin. Some were open, others were still sealed. She stared at the collection in mute horror. Ruby didn’t just like a drink; she was an alcoholic, just like Nessie’s father had been.
Feeling sick, she poured the contents of the open bottles down the sink. Then she found some bags and packed up what was left. At some point Ruby would be coming home and Nessie didn’t want there to be a single drop of alcohol left in the house.
She did another sweep before she left, making sure she hadn’t missed anything. There was one room that was locked, a bedroom at the front of the cottage. Nessie rummaged around on Ruby’s dressing table, taking care not to disturb any of her precious make-up, until she found the key. She turned the handle slowly, dreading what she was about to find.
It was a shrine to Ruby’s acting days. There was no bed. The walls were lined with framed photographs – some black and white, some colour – of a much younger-looking Ruby with a plethora of famous faces. Nessie recognised all the greats – Laurence Olivier, Cary Grant, a young Judi Dench and many more besides. There were other pictures too, of Ruby with a little boy, both of them smiling into the camera, and with a man Nessie didn’t recognise but assumed must be her husband. And then there were photographs Nessie hadn’t expected to find – ones of her and Sam when they were children. These must have belonged to her father, she guessed; Ruby must have rescued them from the pub after he’d died.
‘Oh Ruby,’ Nessie murmured, gazing at the pictures sadly.
Her gaze strayed to the desk beneath the pictures of her and her sister, to a neatly bundled parcel of handwritten envelopes. They were addressed to Sam and Nessie Chapman, at their mother’s address. All were marked ‘Return to Sender’ in defiant red ink.
Nessie didn’t know how long she stood there staring at the envelopes. Her mother had always claimed their father had vanished without trace and had never tried to contact his daughters again. The sight of those letters was proof that she’d lied. Nessie reached out a hand and traced her name on the uppermost envelope; for a moment, she was tempted to open them but even though they were meant for her and Sam, it felt somehow wrong to read them behind Ruby’s back. Once the other woman was back to full health Nessie would ask about them. Until then, the letters would remain where they were, unread and waiting.
The hospital confirmed Ruby had broken her hip. The operation to pin the fracture had to wait until her bloodstream was clear of alcohol, during which time Ruby was alternately charming or difficult. Sam and Nessie took it in turns to go to the hospital during the days that followed but she had no shortage of visitors; when it came to looking after their own, Little Monkham rallied round.
By the time the evening of the Halloween Ball rolled around, decorating the Star and Sixpence was the last thing Sam and Nessie felt like doing. But the guests would be arriving soon, incognito and expecting a bloodthirsty evening – there was no way they could cancel.
Nick arrived just as Sam was dangling glittery spiders from the ceiling. He pulled on a black tricorn hat low over his eyes and glowered up at her. ‘Elijah Blackheart, at your service, ma’am,’ he rasped. ‘If you’d just hand over all your jewels and valuables I’d be much obliged.’
Sam climbed down the ladder and stared at him suspiciously. ‘That’s a very convincing hat. Is it the one you wear in Smugglers’ Inn?’
Nick grinned. ‘Might be. Don’t tell the props department.’
Sam laughed. ‘You’d better hang on to it, then. You know what your fans are like, they’ll do anything to own their very own bit of Smugglers’ swag.’
‘Who are you dressing up as?’ Nick asked, kissing her cheek. He’d shaved his trademark stubble for the role too. ‘Please tell me it’s something fabulous.’
Sam smiled, thinking of the skin-tight Catwoman costume in her wardrobe upstairs. ‘I’ll see your highwayman and raise you a superhero.’
‘Wait until you see it,’ Nessie called from the other side of the bar. ‘I’m pretty sure she’s going to give Franny a coronary.’
‘Or Henry,’ Sam said, with a wicked smile. ‘How are you, anyway? The guest rooms are fully booked, I’m afraid – JoJo and her sister are staying up there – so you’ll have to bunk in with me. Is that all right?’
‘I’m sure I’ll cope,’ Nick replied, his eyes twinkling. He waved a hand around the bar. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
Sam grinned and handed him a fistful of drawing pins. ‘I’m glad you asked that. How are you with bats?’
By nine-thirty, Sam was regretting her costume choice. It was too hot, too tight and had definite drawbacks in the comfort break department. But it had certainly turned heads; Nick’s eyes had lit up when she’d appeared in the bedroom door and he’d kissed her in a way that left no doubt of his appreciation. There’d been a gratifying moment of silence when she’d entered the crowded bar, broken by a long, low wolf whistle that had almost made her blush. Even so, Sam was beginning to wish she’d gone for a classical Venetian vampire costume like Nessie – anything that meant a visit to the toilet didn’t take half an hour.
Owen and Luke had come as Batman and Robin, which was cute. Connor was cutting an elegant figure as Zorro, complete with a wicked-looking rapier. Franny appeared to be dressed as Elizabeth I and Henry looked very much like Henry VIII, which Sam found an oddly incestuous pairing. Nick was getting an unbelievable amount of attention as Elijah Blackheart – as Sam had predicted, die-hard Smugglers’ Inn fans had recognised the authentic hat almost instantly and she’d heard more than one over-excited guest plotting to steal it by the end of the night. Inevitably, some guests had turned up in similar outfits but most just laughed it off. There were one or two whose costumes were so good that Sam couldn’t identify exactly who was underneath. She hadn’t spotted Joss and assumed he’d decided not to come.
By ten-thirty, the party was in full swing. Connor’s Dark and Stormy cocktails were going down well – cider and rum topped with ginger ale was proving a potent mix and more than one guest was looking the worse for wear. The band Sam had booked to play had everyone up dancing with a mixture of covers from every decade. Nick had dragged Sam to join in with the Time Warp, although she had to go outside for some fresh air afterwards. And then, just before eleven o’clock, the lights went out.
‘Don’t panic, everyone,’ she called, with a silent groan. ‘The switch has just tripped. Let me find a torch and I’ll have the lights back on in a heartbeat.’
Down in the cellar, it only took her a moment to flick the switch. A cheer from upstairs told her the lights had come back on, although the cellar remained stubbornly dark. Frowning, she stared at the switch, checking to see if any of the other buttons looked wrong but everything seemed to be in order. Maybe the bulb had gone, she thought, swinging her torch upwards to look at the fitting. It would have to wait until the morning, if it had.
Carefully, she picked her way back to the stairs. A shadow appeared in the doorway and she peered up to see the outline of a tricorn hat. ‘Bloody hell, Nick, you scared me!’
She reached the top of the stairs but stopped when Nick didn’t move. He stared at her in silence for a moment, his face shrouded in shadow, then suddenly one arm swooped behind her back to pull her close and he leaned in to kiss her hard.
A burst of heat exploded through Sam. One hand clasped the banister to ensure she didn’t fall, the other wound itself around Nick’s neck. The kiss went on, growing deeper and more passionate with each passing second, until Sam thought he might sweep her into his arms and carry her up the stairs to take things further. It was unlike any kiss Nick had given her before; strange and yearning but familiar all at the same time.
Then he broke off, as suddenly as he’d started. With a swirl of his cape, he turned and went, leaving Sam staring after him in confusion. He’d never got into a role that much before, she thought, touching her bruised lips, not even when she’d visited him on location. Maybe it was something to do with the mask. Or maybe it was her Catwoman outfit. She’d certainly received enough compliments about the way it fitted her.
At midnight Nessie called time and the guests reluctantly began to leave. Nick was still surrounded by a crowd of adoring fans – smiling, Sam edged her way to his side. ‘That was some kiss earlier, Mr Highwayman,’ she murmured into his ear. ‘Anyone would think you were an actor.’
Nick blinked at her. ‘What? When?’
‘At the cellar door,’ Sam said, gazing quizzically at him. ‘Just after the lights went out.’
He frowned. ‘Sam, I don’t know who it was you kissed but it definitely wasn’t me. Martha hasn’t let me move from this spot all night.’
Sam stepped back in alarm. She’d been so sure it was Nick – he’d had the same tricorn hat, the same cloth mask, everything. But it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that someone else had been at the ball in the same costume . . . in fact, why hadn’t she thought of that earlier? The kiss hadn’t been Nick’s usual style; it had been harder, more desperate. An opportunistic, stolen kiss by someone who knew exactly where she’d be . . .
Sam’s head whipped around as she scanned the remaining guests. At first she couldn’t see another highwayman, then she spotted him on his way out of the door. His hat was different – cheap-looking and plastic. He reached up to take it off and now she could see his hair was fair, not dark like Nick’s. He glanced over his shoulder as he went and locked eyes with hers: blue eyes, the colour of the summer sky. And suddenly she knew who the mystery kisser had been, and why it had seemed different but familiar all at the same time: Joss had come as Elijah Blackheart too.