Hamish stepped forward, running his hand through his hair anxiously. ‘I heard what Penny said. Elspeth missing? Should we call the police?’
‘We’ll search first,’ she said.
‘Let me go, you stay here.’
‘I’m not staying here.’ She moved toward the door.
‘You should, in case she comes back.’
Tina stopped. Turned. ‘No,’ she said, her voice firm. ‘We’ll leave a note on the door. She knows where we keep the spare key. If she comes home, she can let herself in and she’ll know we’re outlooking for her.’
Christina shoved the casserole into the aga, scribbled a note and they grabbed their coats.
Outside, the wind was rising, making the garden gate groan. She taped the note securely to the door at Elspeth’s eye level.Hamish held the passenger door open, and for a moment their eyes met across the roof of the car. She saw her own fear reflected there – not just about Elspeth, but about everything that had been building between them for months.
Right now, though, none of that mattered. Right now, there was only Elspeth, somewhere out there in the dark.
She flung herself onto the seat, slammed the car door shut, and they drove into the night.
Thirty-six
William stood waiting on Langford Manor’s stone porch, his tall frame silhouetted against the lowering sky. From the grim set of his jaw and the tight line of his mouth, Tina knew without asking – the children were still missing. He looked like he was on parade – shoulders squared, chin set, gaze locked straight ahead. A man trained to hold the line even as chaos edged closer. And yet there was something simmering beneath the discipline. Something very close to fear.
Her hands shook as she checked her phone yet again. Still nothing.She dialled her daughter’s number for the umpteenth time. No reply.Come on, Elspeth. Please.
Stay calm, she told herself, twisting her wedding ring round and round. Elspeth’s a sensible girl. She wouldn’t go far. But even as she repeated her promises –no harsh words, no punishment, just home safe– they sounded desperate and flimsy in the cold night air.
She stepped inside the elegant hallway, only to halt abruptly. There in front of her was Elspeth’s satchel, flung onto the central marble table as if she’d just stepped out into the garden. Tina reached out, touching the worn leather handle which so recently her daughter’s hand had held. It was cold. Her lower lip wobbled. She closed her eyes.Where are you, sweetheart?
They began their search inside. Penelope, gliding through the house in a cloud of citrus perfume, wearing heels far tooexpensive and far too high for any sort of emergency. She clacked over polished floorboards, pausing by the library door.
‘I saw them in here about three hours ago,’ she said airily, as if reporting that the butler had misplaced a spoon. ‘Rehearsing forAs You Like It. Benjamin was Orlando. Elspeth was Rosalind. Rather sweet, actually. And they’re such sensible children. They can’t have gone far.’ But behind the casual sentence, Christina spotted the tightness in Penelope’s jaw and the slight quiver in her hands – fear hidden beneath practiced composure.
William snapped on the lights. The library burst into view – oak panelling, towering shelves, laden with spotless porcelain, the faint smell of ash. Two thumbed paperback copies of Shakespeare’s play lay face-down before the fireplace. The grate still held the ghost of a fire – embers dull red beneath charred logs.
‘Nearly out,’ William muttered, crouching to prod the logs with the poker. ‘That’s seasoned oak. No one’s fed this for at least two hours.’ He cast an apologetic glance at his wife, ‘I know you say you’ve looked, but I think we should check the house again. Thoroughly. Main rooms first, then the cellar. And the attics last.’
Tina tried Elspeth’s phone again. A faint ringing cut through the silence. Her eyes snapped to the sofa, where both Elspeth’s phone and another device lay abandoned. A chill ran down her spine – why would they go anywhere without their phones?
The four of them swept through the house in grim formation.
No children.
An hour later, Tina’s composure was fraying and her mind spinning. What if this drama – her daughter going missing on the very day she’d crossed Ernest and Frank – wasn’t a coincidence? What if Ernest was involved? What if Frank had called in a favour from the dodgy characters he seemed to mix with in retirement?
She chewed at a fingernail. If her co-forgers were involved, how would she tell Hamish? Would he ever forgive her? Would sheever forgiveherself?
She pounded down the stone stairs to the cellar. Behind her, Penelope’s heels ticked on the floorboards. The rhythm grated. Penelope had stopped at the door to the cellar like a frisky horse spooked by a tall fence, refusing the obstacle and shying away to safety.
Tina’s shoes squeaked. Dust filled her nose; cobwebs snagged her hair.
‘Perhaps a glass of wine?’ Penelope called down, her voice as light as if they were discussing Shakespeare over supper, ‘Steady the nerves?’ Although delivered smoothly, Tina detected the slight tremble; Penelope was a consummate actor, but she was also a worried mother.
William charged back up the stairs, fury breaking through the thin crust of his restraint. ‘Pen, Christina and Hamish aren’t here for a bloody social call! Their daughter is missing. Withourson. Save the brandy for when we’vefoundthem.’
For ten minutes they prowled through every dark corner of the warren of underground rooms. The air was musty and stale, thick with the scent of damp stone. Doors groaned in protest as they were forced open, sending echoes down narrow corridors full of spiderwebs, but no trace of a child.
William plodded back upstairs followed by Hamish, then Tina, who shut the door while Penelope fluttered over William as if trying to calm an over excited terrier puppy.
