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CHAPTER NINE

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OU’RE DRIVING ME crazy,” Grace exclaimed as they left maths class together. “I can tell you’re holding something back!”

“What? How?” Claire laughed. “You’ve known me for five minutes.”

“I can tell, because you have the world’s lousiest poker face. You’ve been fidgeting and staring off into space all day.”

“Yeah, I do want to share something, but I think I’m going to wait until lunch hour. Just so I can tell everyone at the same time... I think I need the group’s input.”

“Oh! I do love a good intrigue!” Grace stated with a dramatic wave of her hand. They weaved through the throng of students on their way to the table under the tree. Jonathan and Lachlan were already there, stuffing their faces as though they hadn’t eaten in days.

“Hey,” Grace greeted as they approached and took their seats. The boys only grunted in response; their feeding frenzy clearly interrupted. Grace rolled her eyes at Camille as she pulled a container of grapes from her bag and offered a few. Camille smiled, took a couple grapes, but still couldn’t look away from the boys’ ravenous eating. “I know...” Grace whispered loudly. “It’s like watching a horrid accident. You just can’t look away.” Camille could only nod.

“You should see how they eat after a big game,” Jayne said, taking a seat beside Grace.

Grace let out a disgusted snort. “So true. It’s totally disgusting. They’re the same after training too.”

“So why do you hang out with us then if we’re so disgusting?” Jonathan asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Well, because you also happen to be cute,” Grace replied.

“Lucky for me, then.” Jonathan winked.

Lachlan brushed off his hands and looked up at Camille with a nod of greeting. Camille smiled back, not sure if this was his version of a friendly greeting or his way of reacting to her intrusion on their group.

“So, Camille made a discovery last night...” Grace piped up.

“Uh... okay.” Being put on the spot made Camille suddenly nervous. “It’s probably not that big a deal, come to think of it.”

“Come on. Don’t bail on us now,” Grace prompted. “Tell us what’s on your mind.” Clearly, she didn’t plan on letting it go.

Camille flicked quick glances at each of them before diving in. “So... you all know—or knew about my Uncle Charles, right?” They nodded. “Well, when I was born, he wanted my parents to put me up for adoption.”

“What?” Grace and Jayne exclaimed in shock.

“That’s messed up.” Jonathan looked at Lachlan, who gave his solemn nod of agreement. “After that, my parents cut all ties with him, and I never met him. I only found this out after we’d already moved here. We’re the last living LeRoux’s, so the manor was left to my dad. But what’s really interesting is that last night, I found a family tree in a book about the manor. If it’s accurate, turns out I’m the only girl born into the family since Mena LeRoux.”

“The girl who disappeared the same day her father was found murdered, right?” Lachlan asked.

Camille gaped at him. “Uh, yeah. The day the manor opened the property with a huge party.”

“Wait, didn’t that happen over a hundred years ago?” Jayne asked.

“1817,” Lachlan answered. “So, two hundred years ago.”

“So, no girls in two hundred years?” Grace asked slowly, as though trying to work out the odds in her head.

“I mean, obviously, most of the men married, so there are women in the family. Just not born into it. Until me, I guess.”

“That doesn’t even sound possible,” Jonathan stated.

“That’s exactly what I said,” Camille replied. “I mean, it could be nothing, but it just seemed like too much of a coincidence to me.”

“I definitely think that’s something,” Lachlan said. “There has to be more to it.” He leaned forward on his arms and gazed intently at Camille. “You’re going ahead with the blog, aren’t you? This is an epic way to start it.” Camille didn’t have to look at Jayne to feel the heat of the girl’s stare. “Uh... yeah. I will. But I haven’t done anything about it yet.”

“Let me know when you do.” Lachlan tapped his hand on the table. “I want to see what you come up with.” Then he turned to Jonathan. “We have maths. You... you coming?”

“Yeah. You know what he’s like if we’re late,” Jonathan replied dryly. He stood from the table and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“Keep us updated,” Lachlan called over his shoulder as they walked off.

“We’d better get going to P.E.,” Jayne announced, shoving her things into her bag a little too forcefully. Grace gave Camille a small smile, as if to say, ‘Ignore it.’ The three girls headed together toward the gym.

Lachlan’s words played over and over in Camille’s mind, despite her best intentions of blocking them out.

“I can’t believe your uncle asked your parents to give you up,” Grace said softly, shaking her head. “What kind of person does that?” Camille shrugged. “I’m sorry. That’s pretty insensitive to keep talking about it, isn’t it?” Grace placed a concerned hand on Camille’s arm.

“Not at all. Like I said, I’d never met him. Sure, it’s not a great feeling, knowing he wanted me out of the family. But my parents never gave it a second’s thought. That’s all that matters.”

The girls finished their walk in silence. When they entered the gym, they went straight to the bleachers to sit down. Grace leaned forward to look at Camille, who sat on the other side of Jayne. “So, are you going ahead with the blog thing, then?”

“I think I need to,” Camille said. “Even if it’s just for myself. I need answers. I just have absolutely no idea how to set up a blog. Not even a website.”

“Jayne’s a genius at computers, aren’t you?” Grace announced, glancing up at her friend.

“I’m all right.” A small smile tugged at Jayne’s mouth. “I can set one up for you, at least.”

“That would be awesome. Any chance you guys are free after school?”

“I have to work at the bookstore,” Grace replied, pursing her lips in disappointment.

“I’m free,” Jayne offered. “If you don’t mind that it’s just us.”

“Of course not,” Camille said. “That would be brilliant!” That got her the first genuine smile from Jayne since they’d met.

“Hey, you guys could bring your laptops to the bookstore and work from there. That way, I can still be in on the action,” Grace suggested.

“You think setting up a blog is action?” Jayne laughed.

“You know what I mean. What do you think?”

“Sounds good,” Camille replied. “I’ll just need to let my mum know.”

“Same here,” Jayne agreed. Then the teacher blew his whistle.

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CAMILLE STOOD UNDER the steady flow of hot water, smiling as the smell of her green-apple conditioner filled the bathroom. They’d worked for a good couple of hours setting up the website and the blog just the way they wanted it. Jayne had done an amazing job, and Camille was thrilled with the finished result. She’d used a distorted photo of the manor for the homepage and had edited it to include swirling fog and haunting music. The creepy, mysterious feel they’d created was perfect, all without making it look cheesy. Jayne had shown her how to manage it, and while the site was still bare at the moment, Camille looked forward to filling it with all the information she planned—hoped—to uncover. Jayne had even set her with a first task—to enter the LeRoux family tree in its entirety. Of course, she’d said simply taking a photo and uploading it wasn’t good enough. It had to be done manually, and that would take a while, but Camille didn’t mind. She wanted to familiarise herself with her ancestors, to build connections with the family she’d only known in name.

They couldn’t have all been like Uncle Charles.

Turning off the shower, she grabbed her towel, then stepped out into the cool bathroom. Grateful for the slightly warmer bathmat, she shuffled it toward the mirror just to keep her feet off the freezing bathroom floor. When she looked up at the mirror, though, her hand shot out to clutch at the towel rack, and she almost tripped over the bathmat in surprise.

Written into the steamy fog coating the mirror was a name—Caroline. Camille spun around and looked behind her, but the bathroom door was still closed. She glanced back at the mirror, and her mouth dropped open. Every part of her froze as the image of that ghostly woman flooded her mind. She struggled to rationalise.

Think. Think!

Before her shower, there hadn’t been anything on the mirror at all. Looking back at the door again, she envisioned Miss McAllister sneaking in to do this. But that couldn’t be right. She’d rolled another towel and stuffed it up against the bottom of the door to keep the steam in and the draft out. It was only a little effective, but that towel remained exactly where she’d placed it. No one could have opened the door.

Wrapping herself in the fresh towel, she kicked aside the rolled one on the floor and fled the bathroom. The cold floor no longer bothered her as she dashed to her room. Then she snatched her phone from off the bed and hurried back to the bathroom to take a photo. She stopped so suddenly that she almost slipped and fell. The mirror was wiped clean.

She could only stare at it, unable to move, knowing she’d been gone just for a few seconds. Am I going crazy? Snatching her clothes from the bench, she stormed out of the bathroom. The hall creaked behind her, making Camille jump, and she turned to see Miss McAllister walking away from her down the hall.

“Miss McAllister,” Camille called, “were you in the bathroom just now?”

The woman turned slowly, her face as cold and unreadable as the bathroom floor. “No, Miss. I was not.”

Camille glared at her, trying to determine if she believed the woman. Someone Miss McAllister’s age surely couldn’t move faster than her. “Who’s Caroline?” Camille asked. Miss McAllister’s stony expression fell away, and her already pale skin blanched around her widening eyes. “Who is she?” Camille’s pulse raced. She’d gotten an actual response from the woman; this couldn’t have just been her imagination after all.

“The past belongs to the past,” Miss McAllister said. “Leave well enough alone if you know what’s good for you.” Then the woman turned on her heel and scurried off down the hall.

Too stunned and confused to move, Camille stared after her until her pounding heart settled a little. Now the cold made her shiver, so she returned to her room and closed the door. She absently threw on her clothes, then climbed onto the bed and opened her book. Turning it to the LeRoux family tree, she meticulously scanned the thing row by row, name by name, looking for a Caroline. When she reached the bottom without having found it, she leaned back against the cushions and frowned at this dead end. There was no Caroline in her family tree. Who the hell is she, then?

Camille grabbed her laptop, opened the browser, and typed in ‘Caroline and LeRoux Manor’. It came as no surprise that the search proved less than helpful. Sighing, she picked up the phone and texted Grace.

“You won’t believe what’s just happened...”