Mr Phelps didn’t mention the snow. By the time I’d changed back into my own clothes, it was coming down thick and fast outside, though I was too wretched to care. At the back door, Cook took her old greatcoat down off its peg and wrapped me in it.
‘It in’t right,’ she kept saying. ‘They should at least let you wait ’til morning.’
What did it matter? What did any of it matter now?
‘I knew this séance would be trouble,’ said Dorcas, and turned to Gracie. ‘Come on, say your goodbyes.’
Gracie hung back, upset.
‘You’ll be all right, you’ll see,’ I said to her, mustering what cheer I could. Yet my voice sounded flat and hollow and when I hugged her, she cried all the more.
Eventually, Dorcas pulled us apart. ‘Sleep in with me tonight, Gracie. Mrs Jessop’s gone off goodness knows where, so no one will mind.’
Out in the yard, there was already an inch or two of fresh snow.
‘Go straight home,’ said Dorcas. ‘And keep to the driveway, else you’ll get lost.’
I hardly cared where I was headed. What was there to go back to? I felt lost enough already.
‘Well, take care.’ Dorcas started to close the door.
I stuck my foot out to stop her. ‘Before I go, tell me, what d’you know about Ada?’
‘Ada? Why you asking that?’ she said, startled.
‘Just tell me. Quick!’
Dorcas glanced nervously over her shoulder and dropped her voice. ‘She was Mrs Jessop’s girl.’
‘Her daughter?’
‘No one talks of it now,’ she said. ‘We haven’t done for years. Mr Phelps says we’re not to since it caused so much upset at the time. You see, Ada got sick and . . .’
Mr Phelps called from inside, ‘Shut that door and bolt it.’
‘What on earth went on upstairs tonight, Tilly?’ Dorcas hissed.
I went to speak but Mr Phelps’s voice cut in. ‘Hurry up! And make sure Matilda has a lamp.’
‘He can stuff his lamp!’ I said, hitching up my skirts. ‘Thanks, Dorcas. So long.’
I set off out the courtyard. My head was reeling.
Mrs Jessop had a daughter?
Something Cook had said came back to me, that I looked like someone dear to Mrs Jessop, someone who’d died.
Ada.
The very idea made me shudder. I walked faster ’til my head began to clear. Never mind what Cook said; maybe she needed spectacles, or wasn’t thinking straight, or just happened to be sharing a bit of gossip. I couldn’t worry about that.
What mattered was Kit and Ada. There were two spirits here at Frost Hollow Hall, and they’d both contacted me.
Two dead children and two grieving mothers.
This was the link between Kit and Ada, or part of it, at least.
As ghosts they were worlds apart. Ada seemed to haunt the back stairs and kitchens mostly, whereas Kit had appeared to me in the lake. And then there were my dreams of holding Kit’s cold hands, and his dear face pleading for help. Not Ada. There was nothing dreamy or gentle about her. She was angry and spiteful. As if she was out for revenge.
Whatever connected the pair of them, this Ada person had me gripped. There was so much I didn’t know about her: how did she die? What did she look like? What did she mean to Kit? Heck, I hardly knew where to start.
And it seemed Ada was fixed on me too. Every night I’d been at the Hall, she’d done something to get my attention. And now she most definitely had it.
Yet it did nothing to improve my mood. If anything, I felt more crushed than ever. Here I was, leaving the Hall so full of questions and with only half the cursed answers.
And it wasn’t even my fault!
I set off across the park at a right pace, kicking at the snow and cussing ’til my throat felt raw. What did I care? No one would hear me now.
I went on kicking and cussing for quite a while. But eventually my temper cooled and I saw that I’d covered a fair bit of ground. Snow clung to my skirts, and my legs ached like mad. Behind me, I could just make out the faint lights of the Hall. Up ahead was all dark. There were no paths to follow; I was miles from the driveway. Each way I turned looked exactly the same.
The sweat under my clothes cooled quickly. I started to shiver. It was snowing faster now, in hard little grains that stung my cheeks and caught in my hair. The wind had got up too.
Which way?
I set off with the wind in my back. As I walked, the snow began to play tricks on me. It seemed the ground glowed with light and the darkness was not quite black. I felt dizzy just from looking at it.
Eventually, I stopped to get my bearings. Footprints – my footprints – lay before me, going this way and that like ants. My spirits sank in a trice. Oh no! Oh heck, no! I’d been walking in a circle, hadn’t I? I’d passed this way before.
Cursing didn’t help. Up ahead, I could just make out a dark sort of shape. It might have been a house, or a hedge or a gate onto the road. There was nothing to do but to aim for it. Bunching up my skirts, I set off. In places, the snow had drifted knee deep; it was like wading through mud, and it tired me quickly now, so I had to keep stopping to rest. The dark shape I’d been aiming for seemed to have vanished. I’d got colder too and felt very low. And once the bad thoughts started, they wouldn’t stop.
You’ve let Kit down. You’ve let Ma down. You can’t do nothing right. No wonder Pa took off without you.
Round and round they went in my head. I kept going, one boot in front of the other.
The snow looked as white as sheets on a bed. My eyelids grew heavy. All I wanted was to sleep. I sank to my knees. Really, it wasn’t even cold any more; I’d stopped shivering completely. I scooped up the snow into a little pillow and lay back against it.
Tiny snowflakes tickled my face. I stuck my tongue out to catch them and watched as the sleeves of Cook’s coat turned white. Blimey, I was warm. Too warm for this greatcoat. I took it off and spread it out, then lay back down and shut my eyes. Just a minute or two’s rest would do.
Gently, deliciously, I began to drift off. I imagined I was lying in bed at home with the window wide open. But somewhere out in the lane a dog was barking, and the blasted thing wouldn’t stop. And then a person started calling the same name over and over again, getting closer ’til they seemed to be right under my window. I wished they’d just clear off and let me sleep.
The noises were lost in a gust of wind. I opened my eyes and looked about me. There was no dog, no person calling; all I saw was endless, swirling snow. Yet I didn’t feel alone.
‘Kit?’ I said, out loud. ‘It’s you, in’t it?’
The dead don’t always answer: I knew that now.
He was here. It was him. The air said so. The snow kept falling and the night got darker. I hoped it might never be morning so it could be like this for ever.