She’s right. We head across the conservatory, the torchlight guiding our way, and through into the main house. As we creep down a narrow hallway, the throat-cutting smell gets stronger.

Once in an old-fashioned kitchen, I turn off the oven where a beef Wellington has been charcoaled, feeling a jolt of sadness that Ruth always took such pride in her cooking, imagining how upset she would be.

I flash my phone torch around the room, picking out the sparklingly clean butler sink, the double fridge, and the floor-to-ceiling pale-green tiles. I step towards the window, lean my head close to the glass, and peer out into the darkness. Outside is Finn’s quad bike, parked up against a wooden shed. I could have sworn Rosamund said he’d gone to get it.

Maddie flings open the door of a larder, and I turn to see inside tins stacked high, and more vegetables than I could eat in a lifetime. But there’s no Elise crumpled in the corner scared for her life, or worse.

Back in the hallway, I call Elise’s name again. Maddie does the same as we step into the lounge. It’s small. Cosy. I peer behind the sofa, behind the curtains, before leaving the room and leading the way up the staircase.

There are photos on the walls – two or three of Drummondale House at varying angles, at different times of year, and several of a wide-eyed young boy. There’s no doubting it’s Finn.

Two bedrooms and a bathroom lead from the small landing. The bathroom seems empty – a shower curtain pulled across the bath. I step into the room, as Maddie hovers on the landing, take a deep breath, and yank the shower curtain back. I sigh with relief to find it empty.

‘Elise?’ I call again, as I leave the bathroom and we enter the first bedroom.

There’s a TV and a single bed, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. This is Finn’s room. It feels bare. There’s nothing here that tells us who he is – nothing to reveal his true personality. It’s as though he doesn’t plan to stay – that he’s waiting for the right moment to break the news to Ruth that he’s leaving. A wave of anxiety I can’t quite explain clouds my thoughts, followed by a tug of sadness at the thought of him discovering his mother’s been murdered.

We check the room thoroughly, before entering Ruth’s bedroom.

‘Elise,’ we continue to call, but it’s useless. She’s not here.

I flick the torch around. It’s a pretty room, decorated mainly in yellow, with pine furniture, and duck-blue curtains at the window. The bedspread is duck-blue too, with tiny lemon flowers. We check the wardrobe and under the bed. The curtains are open, and there’s a perfect view of the snow-covered ruins. I shiver, my heart racing too fast.