That page might be anywhere, if it still existed at all. And I doubted that it did. Most likely, it was just a heap of ash in a grate somewhere.
‘Bet Mrs Jessop’s got it stuffed down her bodice,’ said Will. ‘And I’m not searching her, so don’t ask.’
He pulled a face at Gracie, who tried hard not to giggle. I didn’t see much to laugh about.
‘That in’t helpful talk,’ I said, irked that we’d got this close only to reach a dead end.
‘But why would she tear it out?’ said Gracie. ‘No one went near those notebooks. Why would we? It’s only Dorcas and the footmen what can read well enough.’
It was a cracking good point. And a little part of me felt glad that I knew my letters, but the gladness didn’t last. Maybe Mrs Jessop wanted to forget that day, to rip it out of her mind, so to speak. Except it didn’t work like that. You couldn’t make yourself forget people because it hurt too much to think of them. I knew that very well.
No.
Something had been written there, something she’d wanted to hide. The tear looked fresh and white. Which might mean she’d only just done it.
‘I’d better tell you,’ said Dorcas, suddenly.
We all looked at her.
‘What I mean is . . . someone did go near the notebooks the other day.’
‘Who was it?’ I said.
She let out a long breath. ‘Me.’
I was taken aback. Hadn’t she just given me a dressing down for reading Mrs Jessop’s notebooks? What the heck was this all about?
I went to speak but she held up a hand to shush me. ‘I was trying to hide it, the one for February 1871. Rumour was Madame Martineau was after details about the day Kit died, to help her look authentic at the séance.’
‘So you’re saying you took the page?’ I asked.
‘No, not quite. Mrs Jessop caught me red-handed. I hadn’t read any of it; it didn’t even cross my mind to. But it didn’t look good, me in her office like that, snooping through her things. I told her straight out what Madame Martineau was up to, and I think she believed me. Only then she turned quite strange, and I was glad to leave the room.’
‘What d’you mean, turned strange?’
‘Sort of panicky, I s’pose. Not that I blame Mrs Jessop; no one wants their private journals read, do they?’
‘Maybe she’s got something to hide,’ I said. ‘And where’s she taken off to, anyway? Don’t that strike you as queer?’
‘Mrs Jessop’s not been right since Ada died,’ said Dorcas. ‘But this séance has certainly stirred things up again.’
‘Maybe she just went to Ada’s grave,’ said Will.
Dorcas raised an eyebrow. ‘What, all night? In this weather?’
The mere mention of the place made me shiver. No one in their right mind would go there, surely. Not in the dead of night, not even to lay a single snowdrop.
Somewhere down the passageway, a clock chimed the hour. Dorcas got to her feet. ‘I’m sorry but you’ll have to go now. Mr Phelps’ll be down any minute.’
At the back door, she pulled back the bolts and turned the key.
‘Take care. But don’t come back here again, not if you know what’s good for you both.’
Gracie hugged me tight. ‘God bless, Tilly. And good luck.’
As we stepped out into the courtyard, the stars were already fading, and the trees were black, spidery shapes against the sky. The back door closed softly behind us.
‘That page might still exist, you know,’ I said.
Will shook his head. ‘Not a chance. She’ll have destroyed it. Especially if it’s as important as we think.’
‘But she writes down everything. That’s what housekeepers do. And she’s kept it all this time, remember.’
‘No,’ said Will. ‘She’s nervous. She’ll have burned it. She’s covering her tracks.’
‘Perhaps.’
Except I couldn’t quite believe it. What if Mrs Jessop wasn’t covering her tracks? What if that page was out there somewhere, waiting for someone to find it?
And then I remembered her antics at the ice house yesterday. It had to be worth a shot.
‘Got your lantern still?’ I said to Will.
‘I left it out here somewhere.’ He looked about him. ‘Here it is!’
‘Save your tinder ’til we get there. Come on. This way.’
*
We headed for the lake. It was a job to find the path, never mind follow it, since the snow came over the tops of our boots and was frozen hard to a crust. It took us an age, and by the time we reached it, the sky was already pale grey. The lake was silent as always, though the ice looked dark, as if the water was pressing up from underneath.
‘Rain’s on the way,’ said Will, looking up at the clouds. ‘That ice won’t hold much longer.’
‘I hope you’re right. Come on.’
Under the trees was the ice house. As soon as Will saw it, he understood.
‘You saw her here yesterday, didn’t you?’ he said.
I nodded.
‘Makes sense. Ada’s grave is over there, see?’
All I saw was the stone wall where I’d found my flint, and beyond it the copse where Mrs Jessop had been.
‘Can’t see no graves,’ I said.
‘Further on. Look!’
I saw then where he was pointing. About fifty yards up ahead was a second, higher wall, the very same one we’d clambered over just a few days ago as a shortcut to Kit’s angel. On the other side of it, hidden from view, would be all those sad little graves. I shivered at the thought.
Of a sudden, Will tensed up. ‘Listen. Can you hear it?’
‘Hear what?’
‘A rustling noise. Someone’s coming.’
‘Oh heck!’
His eyes were fixed on something in the copse. We both stood still for what seemed like an age. Then Will relaxed.
‘It was probably just a deer. Anyway, it’s gone now.’ He turned to me. ‘So, where exactly did you see Mrs Jessop yesterday?’
‘Right here. On these steps, with some paper screwed up in her hand.’
Will drew a long breath.
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘If it was the missing page, then she might’ve hidden it inside.’
‘Wouldn’t hurt to look.’
The door to the ice house stuck fast. We grabbed hold together and gave a specially sharp tug. The door snagged against the ground, then swung open. The air inside smelled rank. My heart was racing now.
‘Stay here and keep watch,’ I said to Will.
‘Take this, then.’ He lit the lantern and handed it to me.
I edged my way in slowly. The lantern didn’t help much; in fact, it made the dark seem darker. Up close the walls were grimy brick, the floor a foul-smelling mess of wet straw. The roof pressed in on me so that I was almost bent double. The only sound was the slow drip of icy water draining away at my feet. Up ahead was the pit of ice. I felt the chill of it even from here. My spirits sank. Nothing else looked different. Nothing had changed. Before I knew it, the same hot panic rose up in my chest. I had to get out. Now.
I groped my way back to the entrance. Just as I reached it my fingers touched something rough in the wall. I stopped. Holding the lantern up, I peered closer. One brick jutted out an inch from the rest. My hands shook as I gripped it. It came away easily enough. And there, stuffed in the damp space where the brick had been, was a scrunched-up piece of paper.
Outside, I showed it to Will.
‘Blimey! You were right!’ he said, his eyes all wide. ‘Have a quick look and then we need to get out of here.’
He cleared the snow from the top step. I was glad to sit down, for my legs were shaking. And now I had the thing right here in my flipping hand, I felt ill at the thought of reading it. I breathed deep, made my eyes focus on the page.