Francesca

I'VE COME TO THE WALLED garden, to soothe myself with nature. Guests love a vegetable garden, especially the notion that their supper has been plucked from The Manor's own soil. Quite a bit of it hasn't, actually—we have a delivery of fresh fruit and vegetables most mornings from a supplier in London—but it's the thought that counts.

This bench in the corner beside the runner bean trellis is a good place to sit—from here I can see anyone who comes and goes through the archway. All day I've had the feeling that someone is watching me.

I close my eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. Ah, that's b—

I open my eyes. Was that... a howl? It sounded like it came from near the kitchens. I stand up and hurry in that direction. It's actually rather a relief to have something to focus on.

I spot our receptionist, Ruby, and the boy, Eddie, with a couple of our guests. Ruby comes toward me and murmurs something sotto voce.

"They found what in the woods?" I ask, certain I misheard.

She repeats herself.

I didn't mistake the word. Blood. They found blood in the woods. For a moment the ground seems to go from under me. I've explored transcendental meditation in the past but I think this may be my first truly out-of-body experience.

Ruby chews her lip. "I mean, should I call the police?"

This brings me back to myself. "Oh goodness no," I say. "We can't possibly have the police here." Not on our opening weekend, not with reviewers from Mr. Mrs. Smith and Condé Nast Traveler staying—the midnight feast is going to put us on the hotlist! I give Ruby my most reassuring smile. "I'm sure whatever it is, it's nothing. My grandmother used to keep chickens. Foxes can make a dreadful mess. Really grisly."

I certainly sound like the assured, self-possessed Francesca Meadows that everyone is used to. But I think of that face at breakfast. The image in the stone basin. The feeling I've had all day, of being watched. No. Whenever I have been faced with adversity in the past I have always triumphed. It's just who I am. Blessed. Bad things just don't happen to Francesca Meadows.

"What we don't want to do," I say, in a voice of utmost calm, "is upset the guests. So, Ruby my lovely, I would be so grateful if you could just own this one for me. You know?" I wait, beaming at her, until she apparently realizes she doesn't have a choice.

"Um, yeah. Sure. OK."

"Oh, great. Thank you. I knew I could count on you! You want to explain to the guests who stumbled across the unfortunate scene that we are investigating but it's all part of authentic country living and absolutely nothing to worry about." As I say the words, I believe them.

She nods.

"You're a star Ruby! You're my star." I beckon the boy over. "It's Eddie, isn't it? You brought me the eggs in the Orangery!"

He coughs. "Yeah." That blush again, spreading up his neck.

"So Eddie," I say. "I'd like you to go into the woods. Take some water, perhaps. Just do whatever you have to do to clean things up. Nature may be red in tooth and claw but our guests would prefer their version of it green and clean. Sound OK?"

"Um—"

"And go when it's a little darker, so you don't run into any other guests."

"Is that—" He seems to falter. "Um. Is that, like, legal? What if—"

"Of course it is!" I say, smiling winningly. "This is private property."

"OK," he says, submissively. Thank you, dear Eddie, for being so blessedly thick and biddable.

I spot another member of staff pushing a wheelbarrow in the other direction. "Dan, isn't it?" I call. He stops in his tracks, clearly stunned that I know his name. "You'll go with Eddie, yes?"

He nods before he even knows what he's being asked to do. It could be quite heady, having this power over people—but I don't ever let that sort of thing get to me.

"And look," I say. "Just between us, yes, boys? But how about a little five-hundred-pound bonus each, as a mark of my gratitude?"

Their eyes grow round. Of course it must sound like such a lot of money to them. I've done a good job of making it sound like a gift, a boon for services rendered. Not at all like I'm passing a bribe.

I HEAD UP to the private apartment shortly after. I'm just in the kitchen prying open the Ayurvedic tea tin I keep for emergencies when I realize I'm not alone. Owen appears from the sitting room.

"Hey," he says. "I've been meaning to give this to you." He fishes in his pocket. "Someone slipped it under our door this morning and I forgot about it until now."

He holds it in front of me. A note, written on hotel paper.

Meet me in the woods at midnight. Just like old times? Beneath the tree with a hundred eyes. It's been a while. We have a lot to discuss.

"Who's it from?" Owen asks, casually enough, but I can feel him watching me.

"My love!" I say, brightly, "I have absolutely no idea. Probably just some local crank. It could just as easily be meant for you. You're the one working on the woodland project—"

"But it's not addressed to me. Look." Now—now!—he produces an envelope. The name written on it: Frankie.

No. Frankie no longer exists.

"It sounds like they know you pretty well," Owen says. "It doesn't sound like the other complaints we've had. What do you think it means: ‘just like old times'?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," I hiss. "It's nothing. Just... just drop it!"

His eyes widen, he takes a step back.

"My darling," I say. "I shocked you. I shocked myself. Gosh!" The voice didn't even sound like mine. What's happening to me? I smile. "Ugh, it's the pressure of this weekend. It's just getting to me. Look, I have no idea who that note is from. It could even be one of my brothers playing a little prank on me. You know what they're like!"

As soon as he turns away, I allow the smile to fall from my face. I didn't take the note from him because I thought my hands might shake if I did.

I think of the image I saw in the stone basin earlier. A bird.

And I called her Sparrow, all those years ago...

It means that face I thought I saw at breakfast wasn't a mirage. After all these years, she's come back. And I know exactly where she wants me to go. Deep into the woods—to a place I haven't been for years.