I didn’t know how long I knelt there; minutes, maybe more. Will’s voice brought me back to myself.
‘This isn’t a dare at all, is it?’ he said, his gaze fixed on me.
‘Don’t,’ I said, getting to my feet.
It felt too much. I squeezed my eyes shut ’til all I saw was swirling patterns. Bit by bit, my mind slowed down. When I opened my eyes again, the snow was still falling. The quiet had changed too; now it was all muffled and thick, like in a room when the drapes are closed.
‘You’d better tell me why we’re here,’ he said. ‘And I want the real reason.’
I fiddled with a thread end of my shawl, unable to think of a single thing to say.
‘Please don’t,’ I said again.
‘You seem so heartbroken, that’s all,’ he said, more gently this time.
I looked at him unsteadily, and felt myself flush. ‘I am, I suppose, though it hardly makes sense to be.’
Will looked past me at the gravestone and breathed in sharp.
‘What is it?’ I said.
‘Look at the date Christopher Barrington died,’ he said. ‘Just look. It’s right strange.’
I turned to peer at the inscription.
February 6th 1871
Kit died ten years ago. I knew this already. I wasn’t sure what Will was getting at.
‘What’s strange about that?’ I said.
‘Today’s the eighth of February.’
‘So two days ago on Sunday it was . . .’
‘The same date. The sixth.’
A chill spread through me. ‘That’s . . . some coincidence, in’t it?’ I said, hearing my voice tremble.
‘Kit Barrington died in that lake,’ Will said. ‘You didn’t. But you was drowning, Tilly. I tried crawling across the ice to reach you but you’d just . . . well . . . vanished. You was under for ages. I was certain you’d come a cropper. And then, somehow, you just floated up again, right near the edge so I could drag you out.’
I shifted uncomfortably.
‘How the heck did you stay alive?’ he said.
‘I . . . um . . .’
‘And you’re right, that date is a coincidence, don’t you think?’
His eyes seemed to peer inside me. And before I could stop myself, the words fell from my mouth.
‘I’ve something to tell you,’ I said. ‘It sounds barmy, but promise me you’ll listen.’
‘Go on then. I’m all ears.’
‘I didn’t die in the lake because somebody saved me. And that somebody was Kit Barrington.’
Will gave a little laugh. ‘You’re right. It is barmy.’
Now I’d started, I wasn’t going to stop, though thank God he couldn’t see how my legs shook. ‘I swear it was him,’ I said. ‘He took my hand and . . .’
‘How the heck could Kit Barrington save you? He’s been dead ten years!’
‘But he was under the water. I saw him.’
‘Really?’
‘It was him! I can prove it!’
‘How?’
‘Last night I found this gold ring with Kit’s name engraved on it.’
‘Where?’
‘In the hem of my dress, the one I was wearing on Sunday.’
Will held out his hand. ‘Let’s see it then.’
‘It’s at home.’
Will pulled a face.
‘It is!’ I said. ‘I in’t daft enough to carry it round with me! People’d reckon I’d nicked it!’
‘Fair enough,’ he said, still looking unsure. ‘But what does this ring prove?’
‘At first I thought he was an angel come to take me to heaven. But then I didn’t die. And now I’ve found the ring, and, well, I reckon it’s a sign.’
‘Of what?’
I felt uncertain myself, saying it out loud. ‘Kit saved me for a reason. And now he wants me to help him.’
‘How can you help him? He’s dead!’
I shook my head. ‘Not quite, not properly. He’s not at peace, anyway.’
‘You been reading those penny dreadfuls again?’ said Will. ‘Messages from beyond the grave and all that?’
He did have a point.
‘I can hardly believe it myself,’ I said. ‘He says there’s a truth to be revealed and until that’s done, then his spirit won’t rest.’
Will went silent and looked at the sky. Eventually he said, ‘Come on, we’d better get going. I said I’d only be an hour, and this snow’s getting heavier.’
‘Don’t you dare walk away!’ I cried, grabbing his arm. ‘You promised you’d listen!’
He shook me off. ‘But it doesn’t add up.’
‘Why not? Yesterday, you said there’d been talk of a ghost up here.’
‘Inside the house, yes. But it could just be servants’ gossip. I’ve heard nothing about ghosts being outside. And certainly no one mentioned the lake.’
We glared at each other.
Then Will said, ‘This is all too strange, Tilly. We need to leave it be.’
‘You’re scared, in’t you?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ he snapped.
‘Then listen to me. It’s a queer story, how Kit Barrington came to die in that lake. No one knows what really happened. But he’s unhappy and he needs my help. And the date on the grave might just be the start of it.’
‘How do you know all this?’
My insides went fluttery. I hoped it didn’t show in my face. ‘He comes to me in my dreams. He’s desperate.’
And he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Only I didn’t think it’d help to say this.
Will scratched his head and took a great deep breath like he was suddenly weary of it all. I wished I’d brought the blasted ring to show him. It might have proved I was telling the truth.
‘You’re the only person I’ve told this to,’ I said. ‘No one else will listen.’
Will met my eye. Then he turned to look at the stone angel. ‘You know my uncle Bert, the stone cutter?’
I did. And I wondered where this was heading.
‘Well, he told me about graves. See that there?’ He pointed to the flowers in the angel’s hands. One of the heads was broken at the stem and hung down limply. ‘It’s s’posed to be like that. It means he died too young, too suddenly – cut down in his youth, and all.’
‘So do you believe me?’ I said. ‘That Kit Barrington needs my help?
Will put his cap back on. ‘I don’t know what to think.’
But he’d stopped smirking, at least, and I felt so overcome that my eyes filled with tears.
‘You think I’m mad,’ I sniffed.
‘I always have done,’ he said. ‘And you’ll have your work cut out trying to solve this business. But I reckon you’re right to start here at the Hall. There’s something about this place . . .’
I knew what he meant.
‘I bet someone here knows more than they’re letting on,’ he said.
‘But Kit’s family loved him. You only got to look at this gravestone.’
The snow was falling thickly now. It was a job to see beyond the hedges, or to the path beyond.
Suddenly, close by, a dog barked.
‘Someone’s coming!’ hissed Will. ‘Quick! Follow me!’
We didn’t get far.
As we stepped back out onto the path, our way was blocked by a rough-looking man with a big stick in his hand. An enormous black dog growled at his side. I sensed Will freeze up beside me.
‘Well, well, well,’ said the man, and spat something solid into the snow. ‘Two tykes from the village paying their respects. In’t that touching? We’ll have to see if it softens his Lordship’s heart.’
Grabbing us both by the scruff of our necks, he marched us in the direction of the Hall.