I open my mouth, about to say how different this is to when Lark vanished, when someone knocks on the door. I jump up and race to answer it. It’s Dad brandishing a bottle of gin. ‘Thank God,’ I say, taking it from him. I head into the kitchen to search for some glasses. Whatever we decide to do now – and I know we’ve got to do something – I’m going to need a double to get through tonight.

Chapter 30

Present Day

Amelia

I sit on the edge of the sofa, lean forward, and splash gin into three glasses, screw the lid back on the bottle, and stand it by my feet like a crutch.

I pick up one of the glasses and take a large gulp, enjoying the warming sensation as it makes its way down my throat. Rosamund knocks back her gin in one, and I widen my eyes. I’m not thinking straight. She’s pregnant. She shouldn’t be drinking. I make a mental note not to give her any more.

I take another gulp, and say, ‘I’m worried about Finn.’

‘Finn knows these woods,’ Rosamund says, banging her glass down on the table. ‘It’s Elise you should be concerned about. She’s been out there for hours.’

‘Of course I’m worried about Elise. I just meant—’

‘We need to think logically,’ Thomas cuts in. ‘We know Elise isn’t in your cottage, Rosamund. But maybe she’s in Amelia and Dad’s cottage, or Ruth’s.’

‘Or the farmhouse,’ I say.

‘Well, she’s not in mine,’ Dad says. ‘I checked over the place when I picked up the phone adaptors, and again when I collected the gin.’

‘What if someone took her? The same person who took Lark?’ Rosamund says, still tearful.

‘You mean Jackson?’ Dad says.

‘But even if Jackson was here at Drummondale House, where would he take her?’ Thomas says.

‘OK,’ I say, raising my index finger. ‘For one, we don’t know for sure that Jackson took Lark a year ago. And two, if Elise has been taken; surely whoever took her couldn’t have gone far. They certainly haven’t gone anywhere by car. Maybe she’s hiding somewhere, afraid.’

‘Afraid?’ Rosamund says, looking up at me.

‘Of whoever killed Ruth,’ I say. ‘If she witnessed what happened, she could be hiding anywhere.’

‘Of course, yes. Oh God, the poor child.’ Rosamund shoves her face into her hands and lets out a painful cry. ‘Whatever is Neil going to say?’

I look at everyone in turn as Rosamund continues to sob, shadows flickering across their faces. Did one of them kill Ruth? Am I in a room with a killer?

I splash more gin into Dad’s glass, and another for me.

‘Jeez, Amelia, this isn’t Friday night at the local pub,’ Thomas says, rubbing his forehead. ‘You need to keep your wits about you.’

I put down the bottle, guilt rising.