Emma’s two mouths smiled. ‘Because, my dear Louisa, you are sozzled. And the only journey you’re going on tonight is up the stairs to bed.’ Putting the coffee cup aside, Emma held out her hand. ‘Come on, then, let’s sort you out. There’s no need to involve anybody else.’

22

23 December 1913

Lou slipped in and out of a fitful sleep, disturbed by vivid dreams that jerked her awake but that she forgot the instant she drifted back into unconsciousness. When the clocks around the house tolled one o’clock, she woke suddenly. The chimes were joined by a knocking sound, like water banging through a cooling pipe. It fell in time with the throbbing in her head. She had drunk too much wine with dinner. Too much brandy after. She lay motionless. Fragments of her behaviour the previous evening began to take shape through the alcohol-induced fug.

She pulled the covers up over her head, but the images refused to budge. All the while, the knocking sound grew louder, more rhythmic, and increasingly insistent. It seemed to be coming from the ceiling above her bed. Letting her mind retrace the journey she had made to the upper floor with Tom – oh, no, Tom, what the hell did you say to him last night? Quick, bury that thought – she judged the room above hers to be the lumber room. Had someone been up there during the day and left a window open, which was now banging in the breeze? She fumbled for the cord beside her bed but stopped. It wouldn’t be fair to drag a poor unfortunate maid from their bed in the middle of the night to close a window just so she could sleep. She pulled a pillow over her face, but the duck feather buffer failed to muffle the knocking. There must be one hell of a storm whipping outside to make the window bang so violently.

Lou dragged the pillow from her face and peered at the fire. It had burned to embers, leaving no flames to indicate that so much as a whisper of a breeze was whistling down the chimney. Letting out a long sigh, she threw back the covers, slipped from the warm cocoon of sheets and blankets, and stumbled while pulling on her robe. Still half asleep, she shoved her feet into her slippers, felt her way along the wall, and let herself out of the room.

The lamps were out. All was dark except for pale fingers of winter moonlight filtering through the glass dome along the landing. The moonlight inched across the walls, casting strange shadows and sapping familiarity from the features of the corridor. There were no fires lit to warm the air; no voices rang out from rooms; there was no bustle of staff going about their business. Drained of colour and life, Hill House took on an eerie, otherworldly quality. Lou’s mind took her back to that first, forbidden foray inside this house. The dark, the desolation, the destruction. Tying the belt of her robe tighter, she increased her pace and let herself into the secret door on the landing.