CASSANDRA
I found the body three days after I bought Bishop’s House.
We had always intended to buy it, Hugo and I. He fell in love with the place after seeing it on one of his runs, insisted on asking his father for the money. I had no immediate objection, though the place looked rather ghoulish to me. When I said this to him, he laughed.
“Darling,” he said, which was what he always called me. Sometimes, I wondered if it was because he had long since forgotten my name. “We’re not going to live in that horrible dump. We’re going to build flats there instead.”
I was on board then. Had all sorts of ideas.
Well, after Hugo disappeared, his father was not so keen on following through, pulled out, and that was that.
I was sad; of course I was. And naturally I was sad about Hugo’s disappearance.
I suppose I was in denial at first. I was convinced he’d swan in through the door after a few weeks, full of excuses.
Then he didn’t. Even though our relationship was never love, not like that, perhaps there was a little bit of it in there. Despite it all. I’ll admit it threw me.
Bishop’s House languished there, and a meeting with our solicitor a few months ago finally convinced Rodrick that this was a good decision.
Hugo would be declared dead soon. I told him this was the perfect opportunity to capitalize on his legacy, that we could name the new flats after him.
And it was a sound investment, which for Rodrick perhaps mattered more than the memory of his son.
As soon as the keys were in my hands, I had landscapers in to give me an idea of what I was dealing with on the grounds.
On that third day, after the landscapers had gone home, I walked around the garden with my own garden spade, keen to set out where I wanted certain features for the architect to take note of.
The trees at the back were a problem, and I wanted to inspect the roots of them.
I did not expect, upon digging in the center of them, to come into contact with a body. Or what was left of a body.
She was bones, mostly. Damp, moldy clothes still hung on. Golden hair on the skull. And a pretty charm bracelet with her, every charm in place, sparkling among the soil. She was, very clearly, a young woman. The clothes told me that much, and the silly little bracelet.
My first instinct was to throw up, but I managed to calm myself.
I looked around, taking note of how carefully shielded this part of the grounds was from anywhere on the street.
The only witness was Bishop’s House itself, looming large in the background, and even then obscured by other trees.
No one had seen this; no one had seen it back then either, when she was buried here.
The second instinct, one might suspect, would be to call the police. A body found on my property of which I had no knowledge—it seems a no-brainer.
No. My second instinct was to bend down and recover the bracelet.
I’ve always been a magpie. I took it, brushing away the dirt that had clung to it for years.
It was expensive, where the rest of her was not.
Beautiful. Had she stolen it? It was a good deed, really, to take it and wear it so it could be admired again.
I could not guarantee, looking at that body, that I would not be linked to it in some way. Because I knew immediately, staring down at it, that Hugo had killed this girl and buried her here to get away with it.
Hugo was no stranger to affairs. Short-term, long-term, everything in between.
He flirted like he breathed; he slept with anyone willing.
I learned this after our engagement, when I discovered text messages from two different women.
But we are all fallible. There were worse things he could do than fuck a random girl.
It was me he came home to, and that was what mattered.
But this girl. There are no coincidences in life. He had killed her, and he had run to evade being caught.
My husband does have a penchant for murder.
It was easy to find who she was, to make the connection between a girl who had disappeared right around the same time he had all those years ago.
She had been pretty, in a cheap sort of way.
Obvious. Pouty-mouthed and big eyes and the kind of thinness only given to youth.
At the time, there was talk of her having run away to London.
She was never found, just like my husband.
Oh, Hugo, I thought. You fool.
Instead of calling the police, I had a body I needed to get rid of before the landscapers returned tomorrow morning.
And a new bracelet.
Oh well.
For better, for worse.
I made a vow.