‘YOU’RE TO SIT HERE, MISS Lily,’ Mrs Castle says, gesturing to the armchair by the fire. Lily sinks down into the leather, listening to it creak and settle around her. Mrs Castle places one of the tartan wraps over Lily’s lap. ‘The landline’s working so I’ve called the police. Kettle’s on. I’ll have rustled up something sweet by the time it’s boiled.’ She then pats Lily on the shoulder, and bustles out of the drawing room.
Lily stares after her. Mrs Castle shot Tom. And now she’s making tea.
Isabelle stands by the fireplace, just as she did that first day here. ‘It’s a lot to take in,’ she says. ‘Be gentle with yourself. I’ve had a long time to process things.’
‘You knew everything?’ Lily asks.
‘Pretty much. Liliana only trusted me and Castle. She tried to go to the police about what really happened to your mum but they wouldn’t listen. “Not enough evidence. Not in the public interest”.’ From the kitchen comes the sound of a kettle whistling and TV murmurs. ‘Middlemen grew unreliable, so she relied on us,’ Isabelle says, and sits down in the other armchair, skin glowing in the firelight. She bends down to stroke the big grey cat now rubbing its head on her ankles and pours him onto her lap. Its eyes are rheumy and unseeing.
‘It’s Winston!’ Lily says. Winston raises his head at the sound of Lily’s voice and purrs. She gets up and crosses over to Isabelle’s chair. ‘Hi big fella.’ Winston sits up tall and butts his head into Lily’s hand.
‘He’s been living with me,’ Isabelle says when Lily sits back down. ‘Had quite the Christmas break at Endgame, haven’t you, Winston?’
‘Wait, you’ve been here all the way through? Both of you?’
‘You must have a lot of questions,’ Isabelle says. Winston purrs beneath her strokes.
‘So many,’ Lily says. Questions that fall around her, building up, one on top of the other like snowflakes. ‘And I’ve no idea where to start.’
‘Then let me. After I saw you in your room, I left and placed all of the mobile phones in the Stirling vault, as Liliana unfortunately requested, then—’
‘Why unfortunately?’ Lily asks.
‘Because, in trying to prevent people from cheating, and rivalling you, she took away the very thing that could have kept you safe.’ She looks over at Lily and seems to blush. ‘And the others, of course. If you’d been able to call the police when Philippa was killed, then Ronnie and Gray would still be alive.’
‘And Samuel would have a parent.’
‘Yes,’ Isabelle says. ‘Liliana would hate what’s happened to him. She loved him so much.’
‘Who wouldn’t? Sorry, carry on. I interrupted you.’
‘It’s all those questions falling like snowflakes,’ Isabelle says. Her golden eyes set on Lily’s. ‘Anyway, so I deposited the phones – including mine as I stupidly followed your aunt’s rules, too – then I came back. A taxi dropped me off at the far end of the estate and I walked through the woods and back fields, waited in the smokehouse till you’d all gone to bed, then Lenora let me in.’
Mrs Castle walks in carrying a cake stand stacked with sandwiches and cake. It’s as if they were back in this room on Christmas Eve and the twelve days of Christmas never happened. She prods Lily’s shoulder again. ‘Eat parkin,’ she says. ‘I’ll be back with the teapot.’
Isabelle watches her go this time, and Lily watches Isabelle. Her hair looks like it’s seen several tins of dry shampoo but no water in a week, and there are plum-pudding-coloured shadows under her eyes. ‘Lenora’s been brilliant,’ Isabelle says. She turns back to Lily. ‘Did you work out who she is?’
‘She’s Aunt Liliana’s home.’
Isabelle smiles sadly and nods. ‘They were lovers before Robert died and then – when he passed – they were only apart when one of you lot was around. Which was a lot to start with. When you all went off to university, Lenora moved to Grantchester.’
‘Liliana was her home, too.’
‘She still is,’ Mrs Castle says as she brings in the tea. She pours them each a cup, then reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out a gold ring. A wedding band. She places it on her ring finger. ‘Felt wrong, not having it on. Liliana’s idea, of course, not mine. Never mine. Said it would avoid awkward questions. But I think she just wanted to avoid it.’ Mrs Castle’s eyes shine but they do not spill.
Liliana had carried too many secrets, some of them should have been shared long before now.
‘Anyway,’ Isabelle says. ‘Liliana’s instructions were that Winston and I were to stay in the music room, and the hidden bedroom within it, to keep an eye on everyone, make sure they were following the rules, et cetera. Lenora would bring us food and drink, and change his litter, thank God. She ended up having to stay in there when she pretended to leave. Quite a squeeze. At least Winston got to have a roam around the games room when everyone was in bed.’
‘That’s why I always sneezed in there,’ Lily says, already feeling the itchy-scratch at the back of her throat and in her ears.
‘I kind of hoped you’d work it out just from that,’ Isabelle says.
‘I’m not that good,’ Lily replies.
‘Oh, but you are.’
‘Get on with it, Izzy,’ Mrs Castle says. ‘I’ve got to make dinner.’
‘You’re off the clock,’ Isabelle says. ‘Go and relax. Decide what you’re going to tell the police.’
‘I’ll tell the truth,’ Mrs Castle says, sitting down on a chair and rubbing her neck. Winston jumps down from Isabelle’s lap and heads for Mrs Castle’s voice. ‘There have been enough lies.’
‘As the police are on their way, I’d better do as Lenora says and hurry,’ Isabelle says. ‘I had CCTV to watch on the perimeter, until they all went down, and some internal cameras, but not many. Mrs Castle was my main eyes and ears.’
Mrs Castle raises her cup in acknowledgement and then takes a gulp of barely milked tea while Winston settles on her feet. ‘Liliana thought she’d planned for every eventuality,’ she says. ‘But she didn’t predict that her own daughter would kill her, and plan the death of others. She had too much of an ego for that.’ Mrs Castle smiles and looks into the fire as if her memories are kept alive in the grate. The smile fades. ‘And she would never have suspected Tom. Even though, when you see him for what he is, he’s the very portrait of a murderer.’
‘Didn’t you try and stop them?’ Lily asks Isabelle.
Isabelle lowers her head so Lily can’t see her eyes. ‘I didn’t know who was responsible to start with. Lenora came to the music room after Philippa was found and we talked it through. I couldn’t find any footage that would tell us who it was. And obviously I was as snowed in as all of you. But I kept watch. I roamed the halls at night, keeping an eye on you.’
Lily sits upright, crumbs falling from her lap. ‘You spoke to me. I thought it was ghosts.’
Isabelle nods. ‘I often kept vigil in Liliana or Mariana’s room, which is how you heard me through the walls.’
‘That’s not all she did,’ Mrs Castle says as she hauls Winston onto her lap.
And then Lily realises. ‘You were the one who saved me,’ she says.
Isabelle nods. ‘I had to.’
‘But that means you bent the rule about not interfering.’
‘As you said on Christmas Eve, it depends if the rule is fair. And if the person you’ve loved since you were a child is being strangled . . .’
Lily feels her pulse beating in her neck. She tells herself that Isabelle just means platonic love. Sister-ly, cis-terish love.
‘I was worried that Rachel or Holly would be killed, so Mrs Castle persuaded them to go to the old groundskeeper’s cottage at the far edges of the estate and leave a note saying they’d left. That way they’d be safe.’
‘So, they’re still on the grounds?’ Lily says. She rubs at her head.
‘I’ll go and get them,’ Mrs Castle says. ‘Tell them the coast is clear. They must be desperate to get back to Beatrice.’ She then walks out, but not before winking at Lily and flicking her eyebrows towards Isabelle. Now Lily is the one blushing.
‘Before they get here,’ Isabelle says, ‘I’ve got one more note from Liliana to give you.’
‘Not another clue?’ Lily says. ‘Because my brain is bubble and squeak.’
‘See for yourself,’ Isabelle says, taking an envelope from her pocket.
Lily takes a deep breath and opens the envelope. The smell of Truth comes out, and Lily feels her tears begin to build.
Dearest Lily, the letter inside says, if you’re reading this, then I am dead and you are the owner of Endgame. Congratulations, darling, I knew you could do it.
I should have told you all this before. I nearly did, so many times. But I didn’t have your courage. Only now can I spell it out. I killed Edward and Veronica, after finding out that Edward killed Mariana. I had suspicions, as I knew your mum would never leave you or me. And the night before she died, she’d told me that Edward and Veronica had demanded she collude with them in excluding me, or hand over the house to him. They threatened your life, and told Mariana that it wouldn’t be fake blood next time. She told them she wouldn’t. Next morning, she was dead. I tracked down the coroner and, on being presented with a cheque and a guarantee that I wouldn’t tell the police, he told me what really happened. Edward tried to hang Mariana from her own ceiling to look like suicide, but his noose wasn’t good enough. Mariana managed to get down and ran away as far as the maze, but Edward followed, and strangled her. He then slit her wrists to make it look like she’d tried again, but she was already dead so hardly bled. Edward placed the fake blood on her sleeves, then bribed the coroner. I confronted Edward and he admitted it to me, laughing. And so that’s why I killed him and his wife. And I am still glad I did.
But because of that, I shut away all the wonderful things of my life, too, and never shared them with you. Like how Mariana had the music room made so that she could get away from the conference guests. And that little extra hidden room was for you, singing along with her from your cot.
‘That’s why I saw her appearing suddenly,’ Lily says, breaking her gaze from the page to look at Isabelle. ‘And Philippa saw someone emerging from the walls.’
‘Which also explains the rumours of the White Lady,’ Isabelle adds. ‘At least, I hope so. I’m never quite sure anyone’s alone in this place.’
Lily keeps on reading.
Like how everything you did delighted her, and that she loved you, and would never, ever have left you. I should have told you that every day, instead I let you believe a lie. And that is unforgivable.
Do whatever you like with the house, all I ask is that you turn towards yourself, not away like I did, that you look after my home, and find your own.
With all my love,
Liliana Armitage-Castle
Lily puts the letter down and lets her tears fall. The grandmother clock rings out four times. The Christmas Game is over.
*
Lily and Isabelle walk out of the house, together. The air is crisp and cleansing. Snow has fallen again. Enough to Tippex the grounds and the roof of the house. You’d never know what has happened in these grounds if you didn’t scratch off the surface. The secrets of this house are about to be exposed, and that is good. Maybe then both it and Lily can be exorcised.
Because Lily isn’t hiding anymore. She has sung and she has spoken.
Sirens call from beyond the valley. The police can get through at last. The days ahead will be difficult but not as hard as the last twelve. Nothing could be as bad as those. That’s as good a place as any to start a new life.
‘What do you think you’ll do with the house?’ Isabelle asks.
‘I don’t know,’ Lily replies. ‘That’s not a question I thought I’d be facing.’
‘If you want to leave and never come back, and I wouldn’t blame you for a moment, I could arrange for it to be sold. Several developers are already interested. And it’s a lot of money.’
Lily glances back at the house. She thinks of Mum, and all the wonderful memories of her that are kept in the house like a music box. Of Ronnie and Gray, both brilliant in their own way. And then there’s Liliana, cruel and loving, sitting in the open door between right and wrong, getting Lily to close it. And Tom and Sara, and Edward and Veronica, killing to possess a house that amounts to dust in the end.
Endgame House seems to be holding its breath, smoke from the chimney frozen in the air as it waits for her answer. She feels like it still presses down on her shoulders, but it’s now reassuring. Thinking of it broken up into posh people’s apartments makes her feel unaccountably sad. And the thought of the house bulldozed to the ground feels even worse. For a moment, she thinks she sees a figure up in her own window. Mrs Castle, maybe. But she was downstairs when they left the house. From here she can’t see a face, but she gets the impression it’s Mum. And then a cloud passes over the sun and the figure disappears.
Lily continues walking. ‘I think I’ll keep it,’ she says. Ghosts need somewhere to walk, even if they are in her own head. ‘There must be some good to come out of this house.’
‘That’s a lot of space for one person,’ Isabelle says. She’s looking away, extending her head towards the flowerbed as if inspecting the snow-tipped rosehips.
Lily’s heart sewing machines at the implication behind Isabelle’s words. No, Isabelle wouldn’t mean that.
‘There’ll be at least two people,’ she says. ‘Me and the baby.’
Isabelle grins. ‘I was wondering when you’d tell me. I was hoping you’d let me in on the secret on Christmas Eve. But now seems better.’
‘I would have, if I’d known you were always around, watching over me like the best stalker in the world.’
Isabelle’s laugh sends a bird flying from the trees, wings clapping in agreement.
‘And I’ll need a lot of room to make clothes,’ Lily says. ‘I could make my own range from here. Endgame Couture.’
‘Perfect,’ Isabelle says.
‘Or I could teach, have a college for couture. Or run retreats for people with trauma. Or a place for Samuel and orphans like him, and me. I don’t know. I’ll probably do all of it over time, stitch it all together into one life and one house containing it all. Lift the curse for good. I’m going to ask Mrs Castle to run it all with me, fifty-fifty.’ The possibilities connect, as if going through an overlocker, pulling in all her raw seams.
‘Liliana would love all that.’ Isabelle pauses. ‘So would your mum.’
Lily nods. So many feelings run through her. All the strands of her life are joining into one strong skein.
As they pass the sundial, she feels the urge to ask Isabelle something. It feels wildly inappropriate, embarrassing if she’s got the wrong idea, and most of her is screaming at her to be silent. There is not time enough. ‘Have you got a date for Valentine’s Day?’ she says, heart reaching out through words.
Isabelle stops walking, her fine eyebrows heading for her hairline. ‘Are you asking me out, Lily Armitage?’
Lily once again feels the urge to retreat, to swallow back the words. To hide behind a code, layers of meaning beneath fear. She takes a breath, and steps through from fear into excitement. ‘Yes, Belle,’ she says. Isabelle gasps, but Lily keeps on talking. ‘I was thinking an intimate dinner somewhere in the middle of a crowded city. Nowhere near the country.’
‘On one condition, Naiad,’ Isabelle says.
Lily grins. Her heart stitches together. ‘More rules?’
‘Only one – you make me a dress to wear on our date. Of your own design. The first in your collection. Don’t make the corset too tight, though.’
‘Deal,’ Lily says. ‘As long as you don’t mind me not wearing a corset.’
Isabelle’s eyebrows now leap under her fringe. ‘Never thought I’d hear that.’
‘Time I showed the shape of me.’
‘You already have,’ Isabelle says.
Lily looks back again at Endgame House. Its curtains are open. Maybe she won’t put any up at all. Let daylight stream in, showing up the stains and tears an old house carries in its heart. Let moonlight show up the ghosts that live inside.
They walk in time with each other’s footsteps. Isabelle takes her hand. It’s warm and soft and feels like home.
Snow is falling, snow on snow. In the bleak midwinter, now and long ago.
