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‘That was close.’ His face loomed ghost-like in the light. ‘Come on, let’s get this over with.’
He began to climb the stairs and Clara followed, her hand gripping the smooth bannister. Her grandmother, Violet, must have used these stairs when she was needed on the third floor – and when fleeing from Audrey’s bedroom with her diary.
Clara stopped climbing as a wave of grief for the grandmother she’d lost washed over her. If only Violet had talked to her about what had gone on that night. If only she’d felt able to share her secrets.
‘Are you all right down there?’ River asked over his shoulder.
‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m right behind you.’
Clara sniffed back tears and kept on climbing until the gloom lessened and the stairs opened out onto a wide landing.
‘Wow!’ she murmured, overcome by the sight in front of her.
Daylight, filtering through half-open curtains, dappled on a thick, blue carpet that was covered in cream swirls. It looked retro, opulent and untrodden. Gilt-framed oil paintings of moorland hung on the walls and a large grandfather clock stood in a corner, its hands not moving. Time seemed to stand still up here, in this place which had been under lock and key for almost seventy years.
‘Should we take off our shoes?’ Clara whispered to River, who was gazing around him.
‘Maybe we should,’ he whispered back, ‘seeing as we’re not supposed to be up here. We don’t want to leave dirty footprints for Glenda to find.’
Together, they slipped off their shoes and padded along the plush carpet.
‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ said Clara, her voice a little louder.
‘It is, though I still can’t believe you managed to get me up here.’ River stopped to peep out of a window that overlooked the gardens and the sea.
‘Think of it as revenge. It was you who encouraged me to climb the tallest tree in the garden when I was ten.’
‘I didn’t realise you’d get stuck and my father would have to call out the fire service to get you down.’ River grinned. ‘Do you remember how angry he was?’
‘There was steam coming out of his ears. He thought I was a bad influence on you.’
River waved an arm at their surroundings. ‘I think you still are, Clarissa.’
‘Hey! Don’t call me that.’
When Clara punched him on the arm, River laughed. ‘You might have grown up but you still hit like a girl.’
‘And you’re still a sexist pain in the backside.’
‘Nice. Always ready with an insult. That hasn’t changed either.’
‘You and Bartie always deserved it.’
Clara had said something wrong because the smile slipped from River’s face.
‘Anyway,’ he muttered, moving away from the window, ‘we shouldn’t be up here, so let’s have a quick look and get the hell out.’
They walked on in silence, past closed doors, until their way was blocked by a floor-to-ceiling brick wall.
‘I think the main staircase must be behind here,’ said River, knocking on the bricks. ‘My grandfather sealed them off completely after Audrey died.’
‘Even if he was grief-stricken, you have to admit that’s odd behaviour.’
‘He can’t have been grief-stricken for long because he married again very quickly afterwards. Though she died a few years later and he moved on to wife number four.’ River groaned. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Clara. Just because three of his wives died, it doesn’t mean he did away with them. Edwin, who, don’t forget, was a close relative of mine, was not a serial killer.’
‘Of course not,’ said Clara, hoping she sounded convincing. It was time to change the subject. ‘Let’s see what’s in here,’ she said, opening the door nearest to the blank brick wall.
The door opened onto a large bedroom. Charcoal curtains were pulled almost fully across the window, allowing in a thin shaft of sunlight that fell across the floorboards.
