Chapter 4
SAGE
Despite Mrs Oakley’s warning, I go exploring. What else is there to do?
If I’m going to figure out what happened to my sister, I need to understand the house that swallowed her whole. There are so many places here to stash a body, not to mention the island is littered with mudslides, crumbling banks, and hidden sinkholes.
Laine taught me that there’s always evidence to be found. I just have to know how to look, and where. But if the house felt imposing last night, in daylight, it feels worse….
Hollow. Abandoned.
The deeper I go, the more the house closes in.
The air is stale, thick with dust and forgotten things.
Cold, exposed stone seems to whisper. Elegant staircases feel warped by time.
Ugly portraits watch with eyes that follow you around the room.
Every locked door I rattle, every step I take on dubiously stained floors sends unease slithering through my bones.
Only a handful of rooms show signs of life: the kitchen with an overstocked pantry; a faded green sitting room with a vast U-shaped sofa, a huge flatscreen TV, and all the latest newspapers scattered over a stained coffee table; a pink boot room filled with hunting jackets and muddy boots of various sizes that reeks of wet dog; a long dining hall where peeling plum wallpaper curls like dead skin around vast mullioned windows, and a dark-paneled billiard room with leather armchairs, a cabinet of expensive liquor, and a snooker table gathering dust beneath its cover.
The rest are shrouded in sheets, sealed behind warped doors, or locked. The entire east wing is locked off, too, sealed like a wound no one dares reopen.
I’m tempted to explore further, but my stomach is having a field day with its rumbling. I make a note to come back once I’ve gotten my suitcase and had some food.
“Is this what you’re looking for?”
I very nearly jump out of my skin.
Whipping around, I see a man with a shock of red hair and a ginger beard, blocking the narrow corridor. As I take in camouflage gear, muddy boots, and a rifle slung across his shoulder, he eyes me like I’m not supposed to be here.
“You must be…Mr. Mundel?”
“And you must be Sage Lovett.”
“Yes, that’s me.”
He gives me a dirty look. “His latest obsession.”
Obsession? Does he mean Severin? But I can’t ask, and the way Mundel’s eyes run over me makes my skin crawl; it’s like being stroked with sandpaper.
I don’t think I like Mr. Mundel.
He raises both brows. “Well? Do you want this or not?” I look down and see my vanity case in his hands.
It’s dripping wet.
“Oh…my bag. Thank you. I was starting to think it was lost forever.” I try not to snatch it out of his hands when he offers it to me. The leather is water-stained and soaked through. Inside, everything is damp, but luckily not my phone in its case.
“I found it floating in the lake.”
“Oh…right. Any sign of a suitcase? It’s navy, with a broken zip?”
I’m too busy pressing an array of buttons on my phone in an attempt to get it to turn on when he replies, “I’ll keep looking, but it might have been swept away.”
Swept away? I blink up at him, about to ask how that’s even possible, when the screen flares to life, glowing in the dim hallway.
My phone has no signal here, but there’s a decent amount of battery left, despite being submerged all night.
I hold it up, then start waving it in the air like a lunatic, hoping for a bar of reception.
“You won’t find any.”
“What?”
“Phone signal. You’re trying to make a call, aren’t you?”
“Er, yes,” I say slowly, my brain catching up. “I was trying to.”
“Well, there’s no signal inside, you’ll have to go outside for that.” His eyes narrow.
“Will do. Thank you for finding my bag.”
I angle to move past him, but he doesn’t budge. He’s still staring at me, blocking the corridor.
“I can show you if you like?”
I squash down any panicky feelings. “No, that’s okay. I really must—”
“Ms. Lovett?” I glance over Mundel’s shoulder to see Mrs Oakley behind him. “There you are.”
“Mrs Oakley.” I breathe out. Just hearing her matter-of-fact voice is such a relief. “I was just coming to lunch.”
Her eyes narrow. “Well, lunch is in the dining room. Shall I show you the way?” She looks between Mundel and me as if trying to figure out what we’re doing here.
“Yes, please.” My voice sounds too bright as I shuffle past Mundel toward my savior, Mrs Oakley. When I glance back, he’s still there, watching me leave.
I avert my eyes and follow a muttering Mrs Oakley through the depths of the house.
“…Master Troy won’t be joining you as he’s busy.” I catch the end of Mrs. Oakley’s sentence.
What kind of busy? I want to ask, but I can’t. It doesn’t feel right to keep pressing, especially after grilling her about my sister earlier.
Until I know whom I can trust, I should keep my questioning light, nothing a curious fiancée wouldn’t want to know about her soon-to-be husband.
The dining room table is empty except for one place setting—mine.
I’m taken aback by the stacks of buttered bread, cold cuts of meat, quiches, bowls of crunchy salad, and a selection of fruit jams and pots of cream to accompany cakes and scones, filling the space like a feast for the whole village.
I’m not sure where to start. Surely this is not just for one person to eat.
What if someone’s trying to fatten me up?
Now, I’ve lost my appetite.
“I’m not that hungry,” I tell Mrs. Oakley when she bustles back in with a steaming cup of hot tea, but she ignores my protests and sits me down.
“You must eat something.”
“Can we light the fire?” I gesture to the barren hearth. It’s so cold, my teeth are starting to chatter. I forgot to put my cardigan on.
She stares at me like I’m asking for the impossible. “Master Troy doesn’t like there to be open fires around the house.”
I spy a few brown, rusted radiators around the edges of the room. “What about central heating? Can we turn it on?”
She sighs. “It is on. How about another layer? I’ll grab you a sweater.”
I rub my arms and give a nod.
When she’s gone, I stare at the food. It just dawned on me that Mrs. Oakley works for a potential cannibal. Should I be worried? Is there a polite way to ask your host’s housekeeper if the cold cuts contain actual pork?
God, I’m losing it.
I pick up a scone, which looks innocent enough. And as soon as I swallow one bite, a wave of hunger hits, and I end up devouring it in one go. Pretty soon, I’m piling my plate high with bread, salad, and cheese quiche, avoiding any meat. Thankfully, there’s no one around to see me stuffing my face.
Severin doesn’t turn up for lunch, for which I’m grateful.
Lunch is peaceful. Even if, outside the leaded windows, the rain is lashing against the remaining tower. I really want to go up there, but climbing up it is probably very dangerous when wet. Tomorrow, maybe?
Halfway through, Mrs. Oakley hands me a sweater that looks too big to be hers. I don’t dare put it on.
Afterwards, I make my way to the library.
It’s the only inviting space I’ve found in this vast mansion.
Books have always made me feel at home, though no one in my family ever understood why.
When our parents had parties, Nell liked to spy from the staircase, dangling her legs between the bannisters. I’d hide with a book.
Funny how I’m the spy now.
Inside the library, the hearth is dead. But the books are alive.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves crowd every wall.
A beautifully worn leather sofa faces a coffee table and an oxblood leather armchair.
The armchair has an open book splayed face-down on top of its dipped seat, like someone was reading and meant to come back.
Placing the sweater on the chair, I walk slowly around the room, feeling myself thaw in the intimacy of the shelves, devouring titles and breathing in the scent of old paper and leather.
I’m tempted to read one.
Books never lie, Nell whispers.
I’m inclined to agree. But I don’t take one from the shelf. I don’t even trail my fingers over the spines.
If I touch a book, I’ll open it.
And if I open it, I’ll read it.
And then I’ll be lost for hours.
I have to force myself to ignore the books, scanning the room for things that stick out instead. I’m rewarded when my gaze snags on a bookshelf at the far end, slightly off kilter from the rest.
Getting closer, there’s a gap. I push it and it opens. Inside is another room, tucked behind the shelves. A warm lamp glows, illuminating a desk cluttered with messy stacks of paper and the filing cabinet behind it.
A thrill surges in my veins.
Oh my God, it’s a secret room…an office hidden behind a bookcase.
I love things like this, where you have to tilt a book to open it properly. Looking around for a tilted book, I catch myself grinning like an idiot, until it dawns on me whose horrid office this probably is.
Troy Severin’s.
But why is the door open? Does he know it’s unlocked? Did he leave it that way on purpose? Is it a trap?
Nervously, I glance back into the library, toward the entrance. No one has come running in. Not yet, anyway. I should go, leave the room with the door cracked just as I found it, before someone comes. But I hesitate on the threshold.
Severin isn’t here; no one is.
I might never get this chance again. A quick look won’t hurt, right? It’s what I’m here to do. What kind of spy would I be if I ran away now? Still, my chest tightens at the thought of him catching me in his private space.
Don’t be such a baby, Nell whispers. He’s not even here.
She’s right. I hate her sometimes.
Breathing slowly and steadily, I step inside.
Despite the lamp, the room feels dark, and a shiver steals over my bare arms, raising goose flesh.
The office door closes with a soft click that sounds deafening in the silence.
I suddenly think to check I haven’t accidentally locked myself in and quickly try the handle from the inside.
It opens.