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Chapters (55)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
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  8. 6
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  10. 8
  11. 9
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  30. 28
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  40. 38
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  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  55. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A local family is in mourning after a devastating accident last Wednesday. Three-year-old Scarlet Mountcastle wandered away from her family home and was found drowned in a shallow pond in a neighbouring garden a short time afterwards. The child’s mother, Evelyn Mountcastle, an actress, was born and bred in the town. Miss Mountcastle, who lives with her sister Joan in the family home, is said to be too distraught to speak to our reporters but we understand that she has been helping the police with their enquiries into the death of the child. Miss Mountcastle appeared in minor roles in several television series in the 1970s before settling back in the town with her daughter. A neighbour told our reporter, ‘Scarlet was a delightful child, always smiling. She was never on her own and her mother totally doted on her. It’s hard to see how this could have happened.’ When asking about Scarlet’s father, our reporter was told that ‘there was no sign of him on the scene. The Mountcastles always kept themselves to themselves.’ A private service for family only will be held at St Edmund’s.

Pip realised that she had been holding her breath as she read, and let it out in a long sigh. Even though she knew Scarlet had died, it was still difficult to see it written there in black and white. And the story confused her. It seemed to make no sense. The Evelyn she knew from reading the diaries would never have let Scarlet out of her sight, let alone leave her to wander around alone for long enough to drown. There had to be more to it than that. Scarlet was only three. Pip knew parents were more relaxed with their children in the eighties than they were nowadays, giving them a greater freedom to roam and find their own fun, but surely basic concerns for a child’s safety were the same. Three was far too little to be wandering about unaccompanied.

Pip ran her eyes over the story for a second time, but nothing new sprang out at her. She sat back in her chair and contemplated the ceiling. It didn’t appear to have seen any paint for many a year and was now more of a cream colour than the white it no doubt had been originally. A water leak at some time had caused a series of brown spots in one corner that looked a little like a map of the UK.