Elsa came running to her as Mallory shrugged on her waterproofs. ‘The Gregorys are making their way down the slope. I could see them from the dining room. I tried to run after them but I saw—’
‘Saw what?’ asked Mallory.
‘I saw the nun,’ shouted Elsa. ‘Don’t laugh. I saw her dressed in her long habit. It was Bridget Marsh.’
For crying out loud, thought Mallory. ‘The nuns didn’t have long habits,’ she said as she pulled a woollen hat over her head. ‘I don’t have time for this now, Elsa. They were an Anglican community. You told me that yourself. Look at the picture hanging on the wall. Bridget Marsh is wearing a knee-length skirt and short head covering.’
Elsa stared at her open-mouthed. ‘You’re wrong. I know what I saw.’
‘Take a look at the photo again,’ said Mallory, exasperated. ‘Please, Elsa. Take a look at what Bridget Marsh’s ghost should look like before you start describing her.’
The exchange had given her a headache and as soon as a gust of wind battered into her, Mallory found her temper darkening. She set off down the hill, keeping clear of the trees bending in the wind. She looked around for the telephone wire – it could do some serious damage if it hit her – but she saw Tom had secured it to one of the remaining poles. She was nearly blown off her feet twice before she reached the garden’s edge. When her foot hit the path, the slick cobbles sent her flying, winding her as she landed on her back. As she struggled to her feet, her eyes caught a figure looking out of the window. It could only be Noah Vass, his huge bulk filling the window frame.
Mallory put her head down and powered forward. When she got to the top of the slope, she saw the danger of trying to make her way down even in her walking boots. The path was strewn with debris and the salt water and rain was gushing down the cobbled stones. Only the thought of Edith out in this weather made her plough onwards. She used one side of the cliff to brace herself, clinging on to jutting rocks and ivy spilling from above. The sea roared beneath her as her legs slipped and skidded. At each corner, she expected to see the Gregory family also struggling, but they were more sure-footed than her.
She slid down the final part of the slope on her knees coming to a halt outside the open metal gates. Underneath the steps where guests queued to wait for Owen’s boat was a building with high wooden doors. Already ajar, Mallory wrenched them open further and clung onto the handles. In front of a sturdy inflatable raft with an engine at the back, three forlorn figures huddled. Edith, unsurprisingly, was screaming her head off.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Scott kept his eyes on the boat. ‘I thought it was a rowing boat. We were going to put it afloat just by the jetty and set off flares so we could be rescued.’
‘And whose brilliant idea was this?’
Mallory saw him give his wife a side glance. Beth’s face was worse than when she’d last seen her after the accident. Puffed up, as if she’d been crying, the single sliver of glass which had punctured her cheek looked as if it might leave a scar. She should get Michael to take another look. Michael. Mallory grimaced. She had to speak to Michael.
‘It’s my fault,’ said Beth, her voice a strange monotone. ‘I’m worried about Edith. I just wanted to get away from here.’
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Some of Mallory’s anger dissipated. She went to the girl screaming in her father’s arms and put her hands on her forehead. ‘Her temperature feels OK.’
‘It is fine but she was very dopey this morning.’
Oh God, not Edith, thought Mallory. ‘What’s she eaten today?’ she asked.
‘Just breakfast with me. Some toast and the glass of milk earlier.’
The bread would have been from the freezer so should have been OK and she’d supervised the opening of the milk herself. A crash outside brought her to her senses. ‘Edith’s best in bed. She might have a mild infection. We have some tins of baby food in the kitchen. Perhaps if you try to tempt her with that later, she’ll feel more like eating. I can get Michael to look at her in the meantime.’
Beth kept her eyes on her little girl. Mallory could see the scar beginning to weep, blood mingling with water. ‘I’m a terrible mother. The window breaking shook my nerves and then Scott told me about the body, I just flipped.’
But she didn’t sound like a woman who was at the edge of her sanity. If anything, she sounded deadly calm. ‘This situation is making fools out of us all. I’m worried about you too, Beth. Let’s get back to the hotel.’
She reached out to touch the woman’s arm but Beth shrugged off her touch. ‘We’ll go back. It was a stupid idea in the first place.’
Mallory watched the couple as they began to battle the winds back to the hotel. Mallory hunted around the boathouse and found an empty container. It was easy enough to find the fuel tank and, using a piece of rubber hose, she syphoned off the petrol left in the boat and stored the can behind a rock. If anyone else had the bright idea of taking the boat, they’d find their plans thwarted.
Mallory went to follow the Gregorys back up the path, staying behind them to make sure they all made it up safely. Her phone began to beep over and over as a stream of text and voicemail messages found the weak signal connection with the mast over on the mainland. Mallory hesitated. She’d called in Grace’s death. There was nothing more to tell the police, either they’d taken her concerns about Bryony being on the island or they hadn’t. She saw message after message from Alex and those could wait too. There was precious little she could say to reassure him.
Her heart leapt when she saw she’d missed two calls from Toby. He hadn’t forgotten. She tried accessing her voicemail, but the signal was too weak. Finally, she picked up her first message. It was from Joe.
‘Mallory, what the fuck did you say to Toby this morning? I’ve had a message that he’s on his way to see you. You’d better have a fucking good excuse ready.’
Mallory stared at her phone, feeling sick. She’d no idea why Toby had decided to pay her a visit. She’d almost broken down on the phone to him but that hardly accounted for him making his way to the island. He’d be unlikely to even get to the town in this weather. She tried to call Toby’s mobile but the signal was dancing around in the wind. Only on the final try, did she get through to him.
‘Where are you?’
‘Reading.’ She could hear a station announcer in the background.
Mallory swore. ‘Will you do me a favour and turn around. Listen to the weather around me. You’ll be safer in London.’
‘I want to talk to you Mum. About everything that happened.’
Oh, God. Not now, she thought.
‘OK. I promise, as soon as I can get off this island, I’ll come and see you in London?’
‘I want to talk to you now.’
‘But I’m stuck here. Listen—’ The phone went dead as rain battered down on the handset. At this rate, she’d have no working mobile. Mallory pushed open the gate and began the arduous climb back to the hotel, her legs slipping beneath her. She caught up with the Gregorys, Scott grim, Beth expressionless and Edith sobbing.
‘You run and get Edith back inside,’ she told Scott. ‘Go to your room and give her a hot shower. That’ll wake her – I’ll help Beth.’
Scott sped off without even looking back at his wife. Mallory gripped Beth’s arm and half-helping half-dragging her pulled her up the incline.
‘I can’t stay in a hotel with a dead body.’
‘You don’t have any other options.’
‘Can’t you just move it to an outhouse?’
‘No, I can’t,’ said Mallory, pushing on. The rain battered down on their heads and a rumble of thunder could be heard in the background. Beth was shivering despite the thick coat she was wearing. It would have been useless if they’d set out to sea.
As she approached the entrance, through the rain-smeared glass, she could see Michael anxiously staring out of the window as she dragged Beth towards the warmth. When they were finally in the lobby, he moved towards her.
‘She’s fine,’ Mallory said. ‘Everyone’s just drenched through. I’ve told them to have hot baths but I’d like you to look at Edith first.’
‘Send up a pot of tea and coffee. They need to increase their body temperature. I’ll go and organise it.’
‘No, I’ll do it once I’ve put Beth in her room. I want to have a talk with you before you look at Edith.’ She used the last of her strength to get Beth up the stairs and into the bedroom. Beth wrestled herself free from Mallory’s grasp and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
‘I’ll deal with her,’ said Scott, refusing to meet Mallory’s eye. He continued to clutch his laptop containing his precious manuscript.
‘How long have you been married?’ Mallory asked, trying to sound casual.
Scott hesitated. ‘Just a year. We got married when Edith was two. Why do you ask?’
‘I was just wondering. Did you meet your wife through work?’
‘Of course not.’ Scott’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s with all these questions?’
Both turned as Beth stood in the doorway watching them. She was getting nowhere with her oblique questioning. Maybe it was time to be bold. Start actively trying to provoke potential suspects into revealing their true selves. ‘Are you all right, Bryony?’ asked Mallory.
‘It’s Beth,’ said Scott. ‘Beth not Bryony.’
‘Of course,’ said Mallory, still watching Beth whose tear-stained face remained impassive. ‘Apologies.’