HOUSE OF LIES

When Ellen walked into the parlour, it was clear that both Frances and Margaret had been crying. In contrast, Annie’s face was pink with anger, and she was describing the coroner in language Ellen would not have thought such a pious woman would even know. Adelaide looked on the verge of hysterics, but Ellen was too weary to judge whether her excitement was genuine or simply theatrical. Perhaps both; it had been a strange and unsettling day.

She and Harriet led Grace to her usual chair, tucked into the corner of the room, where she could watch and listen without feeling obliged to talk. But when Ellen turned to find a seat of her own, Grace caught her hand. ‘Stay?’

‘Just a moment,’ Ellen told her.

She broke free of Grace’s fingers and went to fetch one of the wooden chairs from the dining room; when she sat, she was, for once, tall enough to look Grace in the eye. She offered her hand—for what little good it might do to comfort Grace—and Grace took it without hesitation. The other women paid no notice; Ellen supposed they would interpret it as a gesture of friendly support. In reality, she wanted to offer her embrace as a shield from the world and her kisses as a distraction.

‘What now?’ Harriet asked.

‘We should speak to a lawyer.’ Frances looked to Grace. ‘Is there one your mother uses?’

Grace shook her head.

‘One of ours, then. Although…’ She paused, as if reluctant to say the next words. ‘Perhaps we should find someone with criminal experience.’

‘Caroline’s not a criminal,’ Annie said, indignation burning in her eyes.

‘No, but they think she is,’ Frances argued. ‘They think she killed Sarah…and Jane.’ At this her eyes filled with tears again.

‘And we know that’s ridiculous,’ Annie countered.

‘Is it?’ All in the room turned to stare at Adelaide, who was worrying at her handkerchief so violently that the edges were starting to fray. ‘There’s no need to glare at me like that,’ she said peevishly. ‘The timing is suspicious. Think of it from the perspective of an outsider. What sounds more ridiculous: that Sarah was frightened to death by a spirit, or that Caroline was angry with her for choosing to leave?’

‘You’re the one always complaining about things being boring.’ Annie jabbed a finger towards Adelaide. ‘Perhaps you’re the one who did it. Things are a lot more exciting now.’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ Adelaide said with a haughty tilt to her chin. ‘If I remember correctly, it was you who was furious with Sarah—enough to kill her, I wonder?’

‘No one killed anyone.’ Margaret spoke up for the first time, in a voice that was hoarse from crying. ‘Sarah’s death was an accident. She was frightened by her daughter, the window frame was rotten, and she fell.’

‘Not by her daughter.’ Grace spoke without looking up. ‘By something she thought was her daughter, perhaps.’

‘What do you mean?’ Ellen asked her quietly.

Grace replied loudly enough for the entire room to hear. ‘I mean there’s no such thing as spirits. Certainly not ones you can see, or ones that can move things about in a room. Whoever frightened Sarah was made of flesh and blood like I am.’

Adelaide laughed scornfully. ‘These events have clearly unhinged you. Imagine—a medium’s daughter who doesn’t believe in spirits!’

‘Imagine,’ Grace repeated, in a tone so devoid of humour that it sent a chill through Ellen’s veins.

‘What are you saying, Grace?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Grace said, lifting her gaze to look Ellen in the eye. ‘I tried to tell you, to warn you to stay away.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I am sorry,’ Grace said and then turned her attention to the other women gathered in the room. ‘This isn’t about spirits, or my mother’s powers, and at least one of you knows that. These recent manifestations have nothing to do with my mother. She was as surprised by them as I was.’

‘That doesn’t mean they weren’t real,’ Frances argued.

Grace ignored her. ‘I’ve been trying to work out how everything was done. Moving things while people are sleeping? That’s simple. But the visions must have been a trick of some kind. At first, it seemed relatively harmless, but then you started all that nonsense about Mother being God’s chosen one. That’s the last thing she needs people putting in her head. And now Sarah’s dead and Mother’s stuck in a police cell because they think she’s the one with cause to murder her. As if she cared if Sarah left her! Mother would be happy with no one, as long as she had food to eat and could talk to her spirits.’

‘You said you didn’t believe in spirits,’ Harriet ventured.

‘No, but she does.’

‘Couldn’t she be right and you wrong?’

‘Not in this.’ Grace was firm.

‘How do you know?’ Harriet persisted.

Ellen could see that Grace was wrestling with something. She wore such a pained expression that Ellen could not help but feel for her—despite the heavy feeling of betrayal stealing over her. ‘The truth, Grace,’ she said. ‘The time for protecting Caroline has passed.’

Grace glanced at her with dark and haunted eyes. She thought a moment longer, then nodded at Ellen and turned back to Harriet. ‘Because my father was a man named George Bowen,’ she said softly. ‘There was never a Reverend McLeod.’

She was met with disbelieving silence. Frances and Adelaide exchanged glances that suggested they thought Grace had lost her mind, while Harriet simply looked at her with sadness on her face.

‘I don’t believe you,’ Annie said finally.

‘That’s your right,’ Grace replied. ‘However, I’m telling the truth. I was born Grace Steele. Mother took my father’s name when we moved to Sydney. McLeod came later still. There was no reverend—just a fancy of my mother’s that eventually became real to her.’

‘You make it sound as if she’s mad,’ Harriet said.

‘Not mad, just…confused at times. She’s easily influenced: by people and dreams alike.’

‘And you let her deceive people.’ Ellen barely recognised her own voice, so warped was it with anger and pain.

‘Until recently, it was harmless. She gave people what they wanted—the belief that those they loved weren’t lost to them when they died. Companionship, too, for those who’d be lonely without it.’

‘But none of it was real ,’ Ellen insisted.

‘Her feelings were. Her kindness.’

‘And what of your feelings?’

Grace’s voice quivered a little. ‘They were real also, although I dare say you won’t believe it.’

Ellen gave a mirthless laugh.

‘Don’t listen to her,’ Annie said, then turned to Grace. ‘You’re lying. All this nonsense about the reverend…You should be ashamed of yourself for telling such terrible fibs at your mother’s expense. And all because you’re jealous.’

‘Jealous?’ Grace asked, as if the idea had never occurred to her before. ‘Of what?’

‘Of the attention your mother gives us. Of the fact that we follow her, and not you. That she’s the chosen one.’

‘I’ve already said that she isn’t. And, even if she were, I wouldn’t want it for her—let alone for myself. Have I ever, once, given you the impression that I want to take my mother’s place? I can think of few things I’d like less.’

‘And yet, here you are, trying to ruin everything,’ Margaret said, her voice cold.

‘It’s already ruined!’ Ellen had rarely seen Grace so agitated. ‘Can’t you see that? The coroner didn’t care about spirits and nor do the police.’

‘But if they could see what Caroline can do,’ Harriet said, ‘they’d have to change their minds.’

‘Exactly!’ Frances looked heartened by the thought. ‘She doesn’t need the circle, now. She can call the spirits to her, and they’ll show those men they’re wrong.’

‘There are no spirits,’ Grace insisted.

‘No? How else could she have known the things she did? Things we never told her. Secret things.’

Like Bella , Ellen thought. She knew about Bella .

Grace smiled, but her eyes were bleak. ‘She’s very good at reading people. She always has been. She doesn’t know she’s doing it most of the time, which is why she thinks it’s spirits telling her what she knows. She can look at a person and know what they need most to hear.’

‘What makes you so sure it doesn’t come from spirits?’ Harriet asked.

‘Because she can’t learn everything just from looking at people. The rest of it involves research: listening to conversations, reading letters and diaries, asking servants or acquaintances about a person’s past.’

Grace spoke of nothing that Ellen hadn’t suspected upon first encountering the church, but hearing her talk of it in such a matter-of-fact manner made it seem so much worse. As if each thing was merely a task to be crossed off a list, not a dreadful betrayal of someone’s trust. Of Ellen’s trust. And she had been fool enough to think Grace cared for her, when all along she had been just another dupe.

‘And it was you who did that research,’ she said, never lifting her gaze from the faded carpet at her feet. She couldn’t bear to look at Grace—to see pride or pity in those dark eyes.

‘At first, yes,’ Grace admitted. ‘I hated it, but no one noticed a child sitting in a corner playing with her doll. And it meant that we could eat. But when we had to leave Sydney, I told Mother I wouldn’t do it any more—and by then she’d convinced herself it was the spirits, not me, who told her those things. She did all right for a while, relying on her own intuition, but eventually she needed help again.’

‘So you told her all our secrets,’ Ellen spat. Her first impressions of Grace had been right; she hated that it cut so deeply.

‘No. Not me. But her knowledge comes from somewhere. Someone.’

‘From the spirits ,’ Annie insisted.

‘There’s no such thing.’

‘You don’t know that!’ Annie’s voice was usually soft; now it was loud and harsh with anger. ‘You don’t know that at all!’

‘If all is as you say it is,’ Harriet jumped in, before things could get more heated, ‘then what were the raps? The winds? The bell that chimed without being touched?’

‘Trickery.’

‘Of Caroline’s making?’

‘No,’ Ellen said, looking up. Suddenly everything made perfect sense. ‘Of Grace’s.’

‘What?’ Grace spun to face Ellen, her brows knitted and her eyes as black as coals. ‘No!’

‘Who else could it be? The manifestations might be new, but the raps were there from the start.’

‘I wasn’t the only one present at the first seance in this house.’

‘But if not Caroline, who else would have cause to engineer them?’

‘Someone in need of companionship.’ Grace turned and looked directly at Margaret. ‘Someone with the means to alter the building. The only question is whether the more recent tricks are the work of someone else.’

The atmosphere in the room shifted as the women realised what Grace was saying and each, in turn, saw the sense in it. At the same time, Ellen knew, they all still wanted to believe Caroline was all they had thought she was. Her own trust had been broken already; it was hurt and embarrassment that made her want to blame Grace for this betrayal.

‘Margaret?’ Frances asked in a small voice. ‘Tell me she’s wrong.’

Margaret did not answer her immediately. She sat in perfect stillness, perhaps not even drawing breath. Ellen wasn’t sure whether she was trying to construct an answer, or simply struggling for words. In the end, however, her response was not verbal at all. She simply crumpled, her body slumping forward and her face scrunching into deep creases as she let out a torrent of noisy tears. Ellen watched her, feeling increasingly betrayed and foolish. Did everyone here have a hand in the deception?

Finally Margaret managed to speak through her sobs. ‘I didn’t mean to kill her,’ she spluttered. ‘It truly was an accident. I just wanted to convince her not to leave.’

‘By pretending to be her daughter?’ Grace asked, her voice icy.

Margaret shook her head fiercely, sending a spray of salt water through the air. ‘She’d never have believed that. It was a mask, like I used at the seances, covered in phosphorous paint. I thought she’d see it and change her mind about leaving, but instead she panicked. And then she tripped and fell backwards, and the entire window just…gave way.’

Ellen felt ill at the thought of it. How terrified Sarah must have been: first to see the ghost, as she thought, and then to feel herself falling. Had she died instantly? Had she lived long enough to wonder why her daughter did not come to comfort her as she passed?

‘You killed her,’ Adelaide said quietly, for once stripped of all her theatrical airs.

‘It was an accident,’ Margaret insisted.

An accident! How many times had Ellen heard that dreadful, meaningless word? ‘You were responsible, all the same.’

‘And yet,’ Grace spoke up, ‘it’s my mother they have locked in that watch house.’

‘There’s no proof,’ Margaret said. ‘They only arrested her out of prejudice. They’ll soon realise it wasn’t her fault. Why,’ she continued, her voice unnaturally bright, ‘I’m sure she’s on her way back home right now!’

‘I doubt it will be that simple,’ Harriet said. Her face was blank as she held herself straight and tall in her seat, but Ellen knew her too well. She was wounded as deeply as Ellen, and too proud to let it show. ‘If they search the house, what will they find? Trapdoors? Secret passageways? Masks and puppets? It’ll be Caroline they blame.’

So caught up had she been in her feelings of betrayal, Ellen had not considered what the revelations meant for herself. But Harriet’s words reminded her of the trickery that had been directed specifically at her. ‘The footprints,’ she said abruptly. ‘The footprints and the laughter. They were more than a mask and some paint.’

Margaret had the decency to look ashamed. ‘The daughter of a neighbour’s maid,’ she admitted. ‘I paid her sixpence to do it.’

Ellen opened her mouth to reply, then shut it. She had no words left.

‘You need to tell the police.’ Frances’ eyes were red, but her voice was surprisingly steady. ‘I’m not sure which lies were yours and which came from Caroline, but she didn’t do what they think she did, and you need to tell them that.’

‘But they’ll arrest me instead. And then—’ Margaret drew a heaving breath. ‘And then I’ll be alone.’

‘No more alone than you’ll be if you don’t do it,’ Annie spoke up. ‘You’re my friend, Margaret—at least I thought you were—and as angry as I am at you, I can’t find it in me to wish you ill. But you have to make things right, else I couldn’t bear to look at you.’

Frances nodded. ‘I’m hurt and shocked and…and furious. But you were there when I had no one. I won’t abandon you—unless you abandon Caroline.’

‘I’m frightened,’ Margaret whispered.

Grace’s voice was steely. ‘How do you think my mother feels?’

Ellen had thought she would find Harriet in their shared bedroom, but the room, just as she had left it that morning, was unoccupied. She looked in the kitchen and the drawing room, then returned to the parlour. Harriet was in none of her usual places. It was only for lack of any better idea that Ellen decided to try the garden. As she stepped out into the drying yard, she saw Harriet’s familiar form standing several yards in front of her, hunched against the cold, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso, her gaze focused on some unseen point to Ellen’s right.

As Ellen moved towards her, the entire garden was revealed and she could see what Harriet was staring at. The winter-brown azaleas, the revived vegetable beds, the sickly-looking lemon tree…and the paving stones that bore the rusty stain of Sarah’s blood. She wrapped an arm around Harriet’s waist and stood silently with her, offering what comfort she could.

Minutes passed. At length, however, Ellen thought it was time to speak up. ‘Come on,’ she said softly. ‘Let’s go inside.’

Harriet started, as if she had only just noticed Ellen. ‘I thought they’d clean the stones,’ she said, her words low and a little slurred, as if she was talking in her sleep. ‘They took the rest of her away. Why not that?’

Ellen wasn’t sure how to respond to that. ‘I suppose when it rains next…’

‘We’ll always know, won’t we? Even if we can’t see it any more, we’ll know.’

‘We will. We’ll know—and we’ll remember her.’

‘She was so good to me when I first came here. Margaret was suspicious—you know how she is—but Sarah sat me down and made me tea and listened while I cried about my parents. We all had losses, but hers seemed as raw as mine. As unbearable. When she died, I thought: at least now she’s with her daughter. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Along with all the others.’

‘We can hope,’ Ellen said. ‘As all Christians do.’

‘Hope!’ She let out a short, humourless laugh.

‘I’m sorry, Harriet. You must be—’

‘Furious?’ Harriet broke in. ‘Or is it devastated? What is it that I’m supposed to feel?’

‘I don’t think you’re supposed to feel anything.’

‘Good. Because I don’t. Feel anything, that is. I don’t even feel numb. Just…empty. Like there’s nothing left of me to care.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Ellen repeated.

‘Why should you be sorry? I’m the one who drew you into this. Unless you knew and didn’t tell me? You and Grace have become very close…’

‘Not as close as I thought, apparently.’ Ellen didn’t try to hide the bitterness in her voice. ‘You know I wouldn’t do that to you.’

Harriet maintained her cold expression a moment longer, but then her face crumpled and her lower lip began to twitch. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…You must be feeling this too.’

‘In a different way.’ Ellen was not here for herself. ‘It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m your friend—your sister—and whatever you feel right now, you are not and never will be alone.’

‘Sister,’ Harriet echoed. ‘I ruined that too, and for what? I should have known. My mother would never have—’

Ellen broke in before Harriet could castigate herself further. ‘You believed because it meant you had her back again. And it’s not ruined. Not if you don’t want it to be.’

Harriet looked at Ellen as if she had gone mad. ‘William has surely forgotten me.’

‘I know for a fact that’s not true. He said so only yesterday.’

‘You must have misheard him,’ Harriet said. But for the first time since Ellen had joined her there was a glimmer of life in her eyes.

‘Come home,’ Ellen said. ‘Let’s leave this place to its lies.’

‘Home.’ Harriet looked at her for several long seconds and then nodded. ‘That sounds rather nice.’

It was too cramped in the small bedroom for them to pack their things at the same time. Ellen let Harriet gather her possessions while she remained downstairs to feed Prince. Watching the spaniel gulp down his meat, she realised she had not eaten since morning herself. She couldn’t stomach the thought of anything substantial, so she ate an apple while the kettle boiled and found a tin of biscuits. In the past she would have taken both tea and biscuits into the parlour but now she sat at the kitchen table, glad to be alone. She knew that only Margaret and Grace were culpable for what had been revealed that day, but sitting with the other women would feel strange and uncomfortable.

Perhaps they were friendships that might be resumed when things were not as painful. Ellen had grown close to Frances, in particular. It seemed unfair to lose that along with everything else. Caroline’s regard, Bella’s forgiveness…

Grace.

She drank a mouthful of tea, and scalded her tongue. Good: a physical pain to focus on, instead of the tangle of hurts in her mind. A reminder, too, that she was alive in this moment. The chair solid beneath her, the teacup warm against her fingers and the tap of Prince’s claws rising, staccato, from the floor. Ellen placed the cup in its saucer, closed her eyes and sat until her breaths became long and even and she no longer felt twisted inside.

She did not open her eyes at the sound of footsteps, nor even when the scent of lemon and bergamot reached her over the soothing smell of tea. It was only when Grace spoke that Ellen felt obliged to acknowledge her presence.

‘Ellen, I—’

‘I’m not interested.’ She reached for her cup. The tea was cool enough to drink now.

‘I never lied to you,’ Grace persisted. ‘There were things I didn’t tell you, but everything I did say was true.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘I thought you probably would.’ Grace moved to the other side of the table and sat down. Her hair was loose now, Ellen noticed, the neat coil she had worn to the inquest discarded along with its containing combs and pins. Her bodice was missing several buttons. Had she torn at them in a fit of anger? Wrenched them from her chest in the grip of regret—or despair? Ellen had not known her to be quite so passionate; she had probably caught her dress on a doorknob.

Regardless, it gave an impression of malignant energy exacerbated by the way she fidgeted in her seat. Her fingers drummed against the tabletop; a rhythm so fast it was almost a tremor.

‘I tried to warn you,’ she said finally. ‘I couldn’t…I have a duty to my mother. To take care of her. She truly does believe; I want you to know that. Hate me if you will, but don’t think ill of her.’

‘Why encourage her, when you don’t believe in spirits yourself?’

‘She doesn’t need encouragement.’ Grace gave a flicker of a sad smile. ‘She’s not mad; not like Harriet suggested. But she has trouble separating the real world from her dreams.’

‘That sounds fairly mad to me.’

‘It was a necessity at first,’ Grace went on, as if she hadn’t heard Ellen, ‘when we arrived in Sydney. It was easier for her to find work as a widow with a small child, so she took my father’s name and pretended they’d been married.’

Ellen hadn’t realised that was what Grace had meant when she had spoken of her true father. She’d assumed something far less scandalous. To think of Caroline as an unwed mother…It was an image that didn’t sit right in her mind. ‘Did you know him?’ she asked, curious in spite of her anger. ‘Your father, I mean.’

‘As far as I know, I never met him. I doubt he even knows I exist. He was a labourer, travelling through the area looking for work. He made my mam a lot of promises, but he was gone a few days later.’

As shocked as Ellen was to learn of this, she couldn’t help but pity Caroline. To be seduced and abandoned, and then to realise you were carrying your deserter’s child…Caroline must have felt so frightened, so broken and betrayed. It was no surprise that she had chosen to leave her past behind her and travel to the other side of the world.

‘Things were better in Sydney than in Pelton Fell, where everyone knew who Mam was and what she’d done. Back home, the other bairns weren’t allowed to play with me, but when Mam became a widow…well, I was no longer her bastard child.’

Ellen recoiled from the harsh term, accurate though it might be. Grace gave her an odd look, as though Ellen’s reaction was unexpected. Perhaps it was. Perhaps she had heard the word used against her so often that it had long since lost its bite. However, Ellen’s life had been relatively sheltered. She was aware of unmarried mothers, of course she was; but were they not confined to the working class? She had never imagined that someone as refined as Caroline might have fallen.

‘Your grandparents?’ she asked. ‘Did they support your mother?’

Grace let out a harsh laugh. ‘Well, they didn’t throw her out. Another mouth to feed, though, when they were already struggling?’

‘Struggling? I thought Caroline’s father was a wealthy farmer.’

‘What, like my father was a vicar? My grand-da was a miner at Pelton Colliery.’

‘But Caroline is…’ She’s one of us , Ellen thought. Respectable. She was not what Ellen pictured when she thought of women of the working class.

‘…a miner’s daughter,’ Grace finished for her. ‘And I’m a miner’s daughter’s bastard. Is it any wonder she prefers her daydreams to the truth?’

‘I suppose not. But that doesn’t really explain the spirits.’

‘No. Well, that began when she started working as a chambermaid in Sydney. There was a medium who held paid seances at the hotel. Mam was curious, so the medium agreed to develop her—much as Mam wanted to develop you. I was seven or eight by then and even I could see it was no more than cheap trickery, but to her it was magic. And it made her feel special after years of being treated like she was worthless. The spirits let her become someone new.’

‘Her,’ Ellen said, ‘and you as well.’

‘I’ve always been Grace Steele, no matter what name people called me. All I cared about was keeping my mother happy and safe.’

‘All you care about, you mean.’

‘That isn’t all I care about now. I know you won’t believe it, but it’s the truth.’

‘Why would I believe it when all you’ve ever done is lie to me?’

‘I haven’t. Ever.’ Grace’s voice was weary. It was clear that she didn’t expect to change Ellen’s mind, but she still felt the urge to defend herself.

‘I trusted you.’ Ellen’s eyes stung with tears she refused to shed, that she didn’t want Grace to see. ‘I told you things I hadn’t told anyone.’

‘I did the same with you.’

‘If this hadn’t happened—Sarah dying, that jury blaming your mother—would you ever have told me the truth?’

‘I…’ Grace looked down. ‘I hope so.’

‘You hope so.’ Something was tearing deep inside Ellen, breaking her apart in ways she didn’t think would ever mend.

It had not been like this with Harriet. She had been sad then, and disappointed, but there had been no sense of betrayal, just a dull understanding that she could never have what she wanted. Harriet had not misled her intentionally. Ellen’s hope had grown from her own misunderstanding—and hope was all it had amounted to in the end.

This was worse. This was not a mistake; was not Ellen’s fault. Grace had said that she was like her. Had kissed her as if lit by fire. She had made Ellen trust her. And Ellen, in consequence, had allowed herself to dream. It seemed foolish now, but she had imagined a future. One where Grace would never again be lonely, and Ellen would finally be understood.

‘I thought I knew you,’ she said. ‘But really I knew nothing at all.’

‘You knew—know—all the things that matter. Who I am, what I value…how happy you made me feel.’ She reached across the table to take Ellen’s hands. ‘You’re beautiful, Ellen. And kind, and smart, and witty. I don’t want to lose you because I felt I had to keep my mother safe.’

The stroke of Grace’s fingers was warm and comforting, and Ellen could feel herself slipping, trying to find a way to leave all the hurt behind. But then their joined hands sparked a memory of their first touch: at the seance that had left Ellen feeling so raw and guilty, tortured by thoughts of her sister. Grace had seen how badly that wounded her, and yet she had allowed Ellen to believe it was real.

That was not the action of someone who cared for her. At best, it was unfeeling. At worst, intentionally cruel.

‘I don’t believe you.’ She tore her hands from Grace’s grasp, and her tears were of anger, now, instead of loss. ‘I was a fool to trust you. I’m leaving, and so is Harriet, and if I never have to hear your lies again, it’ll still be far too soon.’

Grace’s cheeks were dry and her eyes as black as death. ‘I didn’t lie,’ she mumbled, as if she knew no other words.

‘Tell it to the next fool.’ Ellen stood and made her way to the door before she could falter or change her mind. ‘You’ll never see this one again.’

Even as she walked away, a part of her still hoped that Grace would call her back, that she’d give Ellen a reason to forgive her. But all that followed her was silence.

Ellen left the house with Harriet at her side. They had too many possessions to share a hansom cab—and in any case Harriet wanted to speak to William privately before returning to the cottage—so they parted at the gate and loaded their bags into separate cabs.

They stood together as the cabman wrestled with Harriet’s trunk. ‘I came here to bring you home,’ Ellen said, ‘but I never thought it would end up like this.’

‘Fewer deaths?’ Harriet looked drawn and troubled, but at least she could manage a smile.

‘Deaths, inquests, arrests…’

‘I’m sorry,’ Harriet said, growing serious once more. ‘I drew you into this and you ended up getting hurt as well.’

‘You did it in good faith…unlike some people.’

‘I don’t think Margaret meant to hurt anyone. She just couldn’t face any of us leaving and it all got out of her control.’

‘Margaret didn’t owe me anything.’

Harriet’s expression altered as she realised what Ellen meant. ‘Ah. But Caroline did.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘And so did Grace.’

Ellen nodded, biting her lip to stop it quivering. She refused to shed any more tears.

‘Did you speak to her?’

‘She didn’t have anything worthwhile to say.’

Harriet turned back to look at the house. ‘She must have felt she had to choose between you and her mother—to betray Caroline, who needed her, or keep the truth from you. It would have been clear at first, but once she grew to love you…’

Ellen closed her eyes against the word. Once it would have caused joy to bloom within her, but now it only reminded her of what she would never have. ‘Grace loves only her mother.’

‘I’m not sure that’s true.’ Harriet sighed and turned back to Ellen. ‘I know it sounds foolish, but I’ll miss this place. What we thought it was, if not what it turned out to be.’

‘I’m sorry about your family.’

‘I miss them. I always will.’ Harriet smiled. ‘But at least I still have my sister.’

Ellen linked their arms together. ‘Yes, you do.’