“I’m sorry I never knew you better,” she whispers solemnly. “It’s a pity Cory kept us at arm’s length; I got it into my head you were standoffish. I suppose we’ve missed our chance now?”

“I suppose so.”

Diana changes her mind about the schnapps and pours herself another measure.

“The thing is,” Stella clarifies, “as much as I would like to get to know you, I can’t stay at Byrne Hall. I need to go home.”

Diana replies with a smile that makes her look tired and sad. Stella wonders what time it is; it must be the middle of the night.

A door slams down below. Those are Cory’s footsteps, traipsing along the landing to the bathroom: he’s not asleep, then. Stella shivers and drains the last of the schnapps in one choking gulp.

“You’re right.” Diana winds her loosened scarf round her neck and fastens the buttons on her coat. “You’re absolutely right.”

Stella looks up with a question in her eyes.

“It’s time you left,” Diana explains, helping the girl to her feet.

Freya: October–November 2014

FREYA

October–November 2014

Chapter 1

1

I felt my way along the corridor to the top of the stairs after shutting Diana’s door behind me and considered the feasibility of escaping from Byrne Hall now—immediately—in dressing gown and bare feet. I didn’t want to go back to Cory’s room, but I wouldn’t get far—or fast—along the driveway without shoes, and I’d probably be arrested if I were found wandering through Bligh in the early hours dressed like this. Clothes would be a definite plus, as would my purse.

I felt for the bannister with one hand and the opposite wall with the other, and made my way downstairs.

My clothes were still damp from yesterday and I worried he’d feel my shivers through the floorboards. There was a horrible moment when the belt jangled on my jeans, and another as I zipped my bag, and one more—the worst—when I jostled the easel as I was feeling around for my pumps. Each time I froze, waiting for a drowsy voice to demand what was going on, but he didn’t stir.

I didn’t have time or inclination to scribble a note, but before I left I removed the ring from my finger and placed it on the mantelpiece.

The sky was a predawn grey when I left the house, but it was night beneath the trees, as though the sun had had second thoughts about rising. A couple of times I lost the path and stumbled into a wilderness of roots and knee-high ferns. The silence was immense, but it was also imperfect, and every snap, rustle, and chirrup made me jump.