Chapter 11
SAGE
Ican’t sleep here. I just can’t. I haven’t been able to since I got here, nearly a week ago.
Should I have gotten on the boat when I had the chance?
But there’s no answer inside my head. Leaving the light on, I get out of bed and crawl beneath it, curling up into a ball as I wrap the blanket around myself, trying not to hear the echo of footsteps somewhere in the house below.
It’s only the faint sound of wind whistling outside that drowns it out.
When I was little, I used to sleep under the bed, until Nell used to come and make me see how babyish I was being. She’d sing a lullaby and then tell me she’d protect me. Only then would I feel brave enough to fall asleep.
But Nell’s gone.
Hiding under the bed is all I have left.
After a little while, the rain starts, a light pitter-pattering sound on the windows at first, which should be soothing. Instead, it reminds me too much of water torture, especially with a light headache building. On top of that, overhead, the sound of a helicopter can be heard, growing nearer.
I’m never going to fall asleep like this.
Time to get up.
A stray text from Laine makes my chest pull.
We miss you at group. And lunch isn’t the same without you. I know it’s difficult for you to get away, but Nola says that if you don't check in soon, she’ll assume you've married him for real. Should we be worried, or are you just busy with things? x
Things I interpret as plotting murder, since she can’t exactly ask that outright on a phone network. I type back that all is fine, but it hangs undelivered, making me feel even worse.
I hate missing our Stronger Together group sessions, and I’ve never missed any until recently.
But it was on Monday, which was only two days ago, though it feels like forever ago.
Time here seems to merge into one big bad dream, so I didn’t even notice it had been and gone until it was too late.
Not that I could have gone anyway. St Jude’s Church feels too far away to travel there by boat.
To make me feel better, I take a long, hot shower, letting the steam and the pounding jets bring me back to life.
When I come out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, there’s a set of clothing on the chair that wasn’t there before.
I look around for the person who placed it there, but the room is empty.
Someone came into my room while I was in the bathroom.
The thought of that makes me shudder.
Hopefully, it was Kathy.
I had planned to find a sewing kit for the rip in my dress. But there’s no need now. Gathering the clothes off the chair—a tulip-sleeved two-piece with flares in a floral print that looks suspiciously like it was actually made in the seventies—I get ready.
It’s still raining, but mizzy now. Tiny dew drops jewel on the glass, too small for gravity to claim.
Everything I know so far feels like scattered water droplets, refusing to run into one coherent stream, so I take time to think it all through—the newspaper clipping, the bloody diary, and where it was found, the day Nell arrived here, even the fact that Severin has multiple identities.
Since Kathy said Severin wasn’t here that day he bought this house, which has to be a lie, if I prove that Severin was here the day Nell was, then that ties him to her disappearance.
But I need more evidence, like flight details, passport stamps, or even his calendar on his laptop.
Photos on his phone, perhaps. I’m going to have to break into his office again.
I should also jot down everything before I forget.
Before I came to Grayfleet, I had been writing things down, and it helped. But I lost my things when my suitcase went swimming in the lake, including my new diary.
Mentally, I add get notebook to my list of things to do, and then head for breakfast.
But when I get to the dark dining room, there’s nothing laid out. The storm clouds outside are thick and heavy, making it feel like nighttime even though it’s close to 9 a.m. I’m a bit too early, so I go straight to the kitchen to look for food, or at least a cup of tea.
But voices, low and sharp, stop me outside the door. I peer inside, catching a glimpse of two people talking in hushed tones through the gap—Mrs. Oakley and a man.
As I shuffle closer to listen, the sweet smell of baking coming from it reminds me too much of home, and the warmth from the aga brings life to my frozen fingers and toes.
All I want to do is go inside, stand by the oven, and devour buttered toast with jam.
I shove the urge away.
“I don’t know what he’s thinking, keeping her here,” grates the man. “He can’t go through with this sham marriage.”
I can’t quite see his face because he’s turned away and has a cap on, but he sounds like Mr. Mundel.
“He does whatever he wants, you know that. Always has,” Mrs. Oakley replies. “And letting her stay is better than Master Troy losing his home again, don’t you think?”
That stops me. Does she mean Grayfleet? He only bought this place a year and a half ago. When did he lose it? And why?
“He should have tied her to that damn boat and sent her back where she came from,” he says.
“Like he should have done with you when you followed him from prison, begging for a job?”
My stomach twists at that. Severin was in prison? I feel like I knew that.
Mundel snorts. “That was a long time ago. I don’t hear you complaining. Just make sure you keep her out of the way when that reporter Ragg gets here.”
Ragg. Where have I heard that name before?
“I don’t know why I should. Not when you’re speaking to me like that, Elias.”
Mundel chuckles and says something I can’t hear that makes Mrs. Oakley giggle like a schoolgirl.
Okay, now I’m uncomfortable.
“At least, he seems to be in a good mood today,” she sighs.
“The Harper Black deal is on, that’s why.”
“Well, you know him bett—”
A floorboard squeaks. Mrs Oakley looks over and spots me. She seems surprised, but recovers quickly with a charming smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Can I help you, dear?”
“Sorry, Mrs. Oak—I mean, Kathy, I just wanted to see if I could grab a cup of tea or….” I catch the back of Mr. Mundel as he spears me with a dark look and then heads out the back door.
“Tea? Of course.” Her eyes soften as she takes in what I’m wearing. “It fits then?”
“Yes, er, thank you.”
She inclines her head as though it’s nothing. “There’s a host of coats and knits in the boot room, so help yourself. Now. Shall I make you something to eat? What would you like? Pancakes?”
I blink at Kathy. She said the magic word. I can’t say no to pancakes. “Pancakes would be lovely.”
“Oh, before I forget. These arrived for you.” She reaches into her apron and hands me a padded envelope.
I know what it is without opening it. The package is small and shaped like a vial of pills. On the front is the logo stamp of my doctor’s surgery, The Vale Practice.
“Everything alright?” She asks.
“Oh, it’s for my headaches. Dr. Fogg must have sent them.” I stuff them into my pocket. They make me sleepy. The last thing I need right now is to feel like a zombie.
My head isn’t too bad right now.
Maybe I’ll take one later.
“Take a seat, I’ll bring them out in a few minutes. I made the batter this morning since it’s Master Troy’s favorite since he was a boy.”
I cock a brow. Severin has liked pancakes since he was a boy.
Kathy said she had started working for him when he bought Grayfleet, so I’m not sure what to make of that.
I also thought he’d gone hunting, but now he’s back?
He must have arrived in the helicopter this morning.
Has he eaten already? I hope so. The last thing I want to do right now is eat my favorite food with him in the same room.
But I should be so lucky. As Kathy ushers me into the dining room, which is still dark and uninviting, a stark contrast to the warm, cosy kitchen, I see there’s another place setting. I sink into the chair furthest away from him, which I’m starting to see as mine.
And wait, shivering.
But Mrs. Oakley’s words about knowing Severin as a boy, about him losing his home again, and being in prison continue to haunt me.
This home.
Grayfleet.
I’m starting to think…no. But what if...What if Severin has more to do with the Swanleys than I thought? What if he’s the boy from the newspaper clipping? He would be the same age. It would explain why he kept the article.
The hairs on the back of my neck stick up as my eyes are drawn to the vacant seat at the opposite end.
And then my heart starts to race as thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking slot into place.
The boy in the article, Young Swanley, was convicted of killing his own parents.
It would explain Severin’s time in prison.
It would also explain why he appeared from nowhere and bought this decrepit estate for so much money. This was his family home.
Oh. No wonder he hasn’t renovated. I stare at the dirty tapestries and the worn flooring. He would have been just a boy when it happened.
My eyes water, and something like an ache lodges in my chest. Is this what made him this way? Is it why he’s so angry all the time?
But I have no answers….
Maybe the reporter coming today will know more.
Of course, I don’t have proof. It’s only a hunch, nothing more. But it all makes sense. And now I suspect it, I actually feel sorry for him.
Even though he killed me? Nell hushes, softly.
Gripping my napkin, I breathe in and out, feeling like I’m actually going crazy. Nervously, I glance at the other chair. His jacket is there, hanging over the chair. I stare at it for a few seconds.
Until I hear the words…
Or, check his pockets before he comes back.
I don’t know if it’s Nell’s voice or mine. Not that it matters.
Adrenaline, sparks under my skin like electricity as I stand up and hurry over to Severin’s chair.