Almost Gone. Ophelia Night
a gray-uniformed butler carrying a broom, dustpan, and brush. He stood aside for them but Margot did not acknowledge him at all.
The west wing was a mirror image of the east. Huge, darkened rooms with exquisite furnishings and works of art. Quiet and empty. Cassie shivered, longing for a homey bright light or the familiar sound of a television, if such a thing even existed in this house. She followed Margot up the magnificent staircase to the second floor.
“The guest wing.” Three pristine bedrooms, with four-poster beds, were separated by two spacious drawing rooms. The bedrooms were as neat and formal as hotel rooms, and the bedcovers looked as if they had been ironed flat.
“And the family wing.”
Cassie brightened, glad to finally reach the part of the house where people lived.
“The nursery.”
To her confusion, this was another empty room, occupied only by a tall crib with high, barred sides.
“And here, the children’s bedrooms. Our suite is at the end of the passage, around the corner.”
Three closed doors in a row. Margot’s voice dropped and Cassie guessed she didn’t want to look in on the children—not even to say good night.
“This is Antoinette’s bedroom, this is Marc’s, and the closest to ours is Ella’s. Your room is opposite Antoinette’s.”
The door was open and two maids were busily making up the bed. The room was enormous and icy cold. It was furnished with two wingback chairs, a table, and a large wooden wardrobe. Heavy red curtains shrouded the window. Her suitcase had been placed at the foot of the bed.
“You will hear the children if they cry or call—please attend to them. Tomorrow morning they need to be dressed and ready by eight. They will be going outdoors, so choose warm clothing.”
“I will, but…” Cassie gathered her courage. “Could I please have some supper? I’ve had nothing to eat since dinner on the plane last night.”
Margot stared at her, perplexed, then shook her head.
“The children ate early because we are going out. The kitchen is closed now. Breakfast will be served from seven tomorrow. You can wait till then?”
“I—I suppose so.” She felt sick with hunger—the forbidden candy in her bag, intended for the children, suddenly an irresistible temptation.
“And I must email the agency and let them know I’m here. Would it be possible to have the Wi-Fi password? My phone has no signal.”
Now Margot’s stare grew blank. “We have no Wi-Fi, and there is no cell phone signal here. Only a landline telephone in Pierre’s study. To send an email, you must go into town.”
Without waiting for Cassie’s response, she turned away and headed toward the main bedroom.
The maids had gone, leaving Cassie’s bed in a state of chilly perfection.
She closed the door.
She’d never dreamed she would feel homesick, but at that moment she longed for a friendly voice, the babble of the television, the clutter of a full refrigerator. Dishes in the sink, toys on the floor, YouTube videos playing on phones. The happy chaos of a normal family—the life she’d expected to become a part of.
Instead, she felt she was already embroiled in a bitter and complicated conflict. She could never have hoped to be instant friends with these children—not with the family dynamics that had played out so far. This place was a battleground—and while she might find an ally in young Ella, she feared she had already made an enemy in Antoinette.
The ceiling light, which had been flickering, suddenly failed. Cassie fumbled in her backpack for her phone and unpacked as best she could in the flashlight’s beam, before plugging it into the only visible plug point on the opposite side of the room and shuffling through the darkness to her bed.
Cold, apprehensive, and hungry, she climbed between the chilly sheets and pulled them up to her chin. She’d expected to feel more hopeful and positive after meeting the family, but instead she found herself doubting her ability to cope with them, and dreading what the following day would bring.
CHAPTER FOUR
The statue stood in Cassie’s doorway, framed by darkness.
Its lifeless eyes opened and its mouth parted as it moved toward her. The hairline cracks around its lips widened, and then its entire face began to disintegrate. Fragments of marble showered down and rattled on the floor.
“No,” Cassie whispered, but found she could not move. She was trapped in bed, her limbs frozen even though her panicked mind implored her to flee.
The statue made its way toward her, arms outstretched, stone chips cascading from its limbs. It began to scream, a high, thin sound, and as it did, she saw what was being exposed under the marble shell.
Her sister’s face. Cold, gray, dead.
“No, no, no!” Cassie shouted, and her own cries woke her.
The room was pitch dark; she was curled in a shivering ball. She sat up, panicked, groping for a light switch that wasn’t there.
Her worst fear… the one she tried hard to suppress by day, but which found its way into nightmares. It was the fear that Jacqui had died. Because why else would her sister have suddenly stopped communicating? Why had there been no letters, no phone calls, no word from her for years?
Shaking with cold and fear, Cassie realized the clattering stones in her dream had become the sound of rain, gusting in the wind, drumming against the window glass. And above the rain, she heard another sound. One of the children was screaming.
“You will hear the children if they cry or call—please attend to them.”
Cassie felt confused and disoriented. She wished she could turn on a bedside light and take a few minutes to calm herself. The dream had been so vivid she still felt locked inside it. But the screaming must have started while she was asleep—it might, in fact, have caused her nightmare. She was needed urgently, and she had to hurry.
She pushed the duvet back, discovering the window hadn’t been properly closed. Rain had blown in through the gap, and the lower section of the covers was dripping wet. She stepped out of bed into the blackness and headed across the room in the direction she hoped her phone would be.
A slick of water on the floor had turned the tiles to ice. She skidded, losing her footing and landing with a painful thud on her back. Her head banged against the bedframe and her vision exploded into stars.
“Goddammit,” she whispered, easing herself onto her hands and knees and waiting for the pain in her head, and the dizziness, to subside.
She crawled across the tiles and felt around for her phone, hoping it had escaped the floodwater. To her relief, this side of the room was dry. She turned on the flashlight, clambering painfully to her feet. Her head was throbbing and her shirt was drenched. She ripped it off and quickly pulled on the first clothes she could find—a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a gray top. Barefoot, she hurried out of the room.
She shone her flashlight onto the walls but there were no light switches nearby. Carefully, she followed its beam in the direction of the sound, heading toward the Dubois’s suites. The room closest to theirs would be Ella’s bedroom.
Cassie knocked quickly and went in.
Thankfully, light at last. In the glow of the ceiling lamp she could see the single bed near the window where Ella had kicked off her duvet. Shouting and screaming in her sleep, she was fighting the demons of her dream.
“Ella, wake up!”
Closing the door, Cassie hurried over and sat on the edge of the bed, gently grasping the sleeping girl’s shoulders and feeling them hunched and shuddering. Her dark hair was matted, her pajama top bunched up. She’d kicked her blue duvet to the bottom of the bed—she must be cold.
“Wake up, it’s OK. You’re just having a bad dream.”
“They’re