Lizzie hesitated. Bella must be Muriel’s daughter – she’d told Rob she was there to see her cousin before she mentioned her ‘Auntie’ Muriel and, as he knew them, he’d put two and two together. That was helpful.

‘Well, I’ve got tomorrow still. Maybe even the Tuesday; it all depends.’

‘Oh? On what?’ His smile reached his grey-green eyes and they twinkled, even in the dull room. She averted her gaze, realising she was making the whole situation more complicated. He was openly flirting with her and she was allowing it. Worse, encouraging it. God, if Dom could see this.

‘Depends how desperate I am to escape from Mapledon.’

‘Right.’ For a moment he looked hurt, like he’d taken her statement as a personal insult, but then his face relaxed again, and he leant across the table, his upper body close to hers. ‘I get that,’ he said in a hushed voice. He turned his head to look around him before carrying on in his whispered tone. ‘You were lucky to escape the first time, really. In fact, I’m surprised you considered visiting again, however fleeting. Just in case.’

Lizzie’s blood ran cold. ‘You’re not the first person to say something like that.’ She pulled back from him slightly. It wasn’t a normal thing for people to say, and yet both people she’d met had given the same creepy warning. Or what felt like a warning. She couldn’t dismiss the possibility of it being a thinly veiled threat. Stay too long and you’ll never leave, or maybe dig deep enough and you’ll unearth secrets that could get you killed. She was over-exaggerating now, her mind galloping. She should get a grip. They’d only been joking. Hadn’t they? Whatever the reason for Anna’s and Rob’s flippant comments, Lizzie was feeling more anxious with each ‘joke’.

She wondered who’d be next to suggest she leave Mapledon while she still could.

Chapter Thirty-Three

1989

Mapledon Church

Sunday 2nd July – 17 days before

‘Reverend, I need to speak with you. In private.’

‘Right now, Muriel?’ Reverend Farnley’s brow furrowed as he laid the book he’d been reading to the children on his lap. The group of three girls and two boys stared up from their sitting position on the rug in the corner, quietly waiting for the story to resume. ‘I’m in the middle of telling the story of Noah.’

‘Sorry, but I don’t think this should wait,’ Muriel said, her eyes travelling to the floor where Eliza Cawley was sitting, her body turned away from the rest of the group, then back to Reverend Farnley.

‘Oh, well, then. Give me a second and I’ll see you in the vestry.’ He stood, then beckoned to Wendy, one of the other Sunday school helpers, to come and take over from him. He strode to the vestry.

‘What is the matter, Muriel?’

‘Well, as you are … aware …’ Muriel gave him a knowing look ‘… something isn’t quite right with little Eliza Cawley. I need to ask for your guidance. His guidance, Reverend Farnley.’