Chapter 24 Ruth
Ruth
The young woman in front of Ruth looked uncomfortably hot, her face flushed, the tendrils of hair escaping from her sun hat darkened with sweat. Had she come here on foot? Surely she couldn’t have got like that just from walking from the car park.
She came closer to Ruth’s chair, taking the hat off and brushing her hair back with her hand. Dark hair with a hint of auburn to it. Glorious, Ruth imagined, when it was freshly washed.
“Thank you so much for seeing me,” she was saying. “My name’s Elise. I’m working on the project at the house you used to own. Marsh House.”
I know the name of my house! Ruth might have said, but bit the words back, wondering whether the girl knew she had paint in her hair. Hunter green by the look of it, a colour Lilias had favoured.
Instead of offering the girl a seat or some refreshment as politeness dictated, Ruth came straight to the point. She’d been waiting long enough to ask the question—ever since Janice had handed her the envelope containing the drawing the previous afternoon.
“How did you manage to draw such an accurate likeness of my sister?”
The girl—Elise—looked suddenly animated. She took a step closer to Ruth. “Is it a good likeness, then?”
Ruth reached for the drawing from a nearby table and lowered her gaze to it, studying her sister’s features once again. “It is.” She looked up. “How did you manage it? Did you dig up a photograph of Lilias from somewhere?”
Elise looked around for a chair. “Do you mind if I—”
Ruth flapped a hand. “Yes, yes. Sit.”
“Thank you. Actually, this will probably sound a bit . . . ridiculous.”
“Try me.”
She licked her lips. “Well, I saw her.”
Ruth frowned. “How do you mean? Like a ghost?”
Elise shook her head. “Not exactly. Although ever since I arrived at Marsh House, I have sensed . . . a kind of presence. As if someone . . . or something is watching me. And we uncovered a wall painting in the back room downstairs with three figures. One of them being, I assume, your sister.”
Of course, yes, the mural. “So, you did your drawing from that?”
Elise shook her head. “No, I made the drawing before Sam discovered the mural. Sam’s the carpenter on the project. Your sister’s face just came to me one day when I was drawing. I drew you too. Look.”
Ruth watched as she fished about in her bag, pulling out a digital camera.
“Here.”
Elise offered her the camera. Ruth took it. Looked at the screen. Struggled to focus.
“Pass me my glasses, would you?”
Elise did so, and Ruth put them on. Squinted at the screen again.
Saw a drawing of herself and Lilias standing behind a vase of flowers, she with her head on Lilias’s shoulder, Lilias’s arm around her.
Tears pricked Ruth’s eyes. Even after all this time, the pang of loss was just as sharp as ever.
She’d never quite realised exactly how much she depended on her sister until she was gone.
Dear, dear Lilias. Why hadn’t she felt she could trust Ruth with the truth about her situation?
But deep in her heart, Ruth knew Lilias’s silence hadn’t been down to a lack of trust. It had been an act of love; an ever-present instinct to protect Ruth from anything that would hurt or worry her, no matter what the personal cost.
Damn you, Lily, Ruth thought, tears filling her eyes. Why didn’t you tell me the truth?