About the Author

Helen Phifer lives in a small town called Barrow-in-Furness with her husband and five children. She has lived in the same town since she was born. It gets some bad press but really is a lovely place to live, surrounded by coastline and not far from the Lake District, where she likes to spend at least one of her days off from work. She has always loved writing and reading and loves reading books that make the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Unable to find enough scary stories to read, she decided to write her own.

You can contact or follow Helen on her blog at helenphiferblog.wordpress.com, her website at www.helenphifer.com and on Twitter: @helenphifer1.

Praise for Helen Phifer

‘If you haven’t read any of the books in this series yet, you don’t know what you’re missing!’ – Splashes into Books

‘The Ghost House is the most exciting book I have read in a very long time, and would make an absolutely perfect Halloween read! Amazing début from Helen Phifer and I eagerly await more from her!’ – Judging Covers

‘It was an atmospheric, spooky read, ideal for the season.’ – I Heart Reading

‘The story constantly kept me on the edge of my seat. The Ghost House is a magnificent read and it’s perfect for those who have a strong stomach and nerves of steel!’ – Librarian Lavender

‘I really found my heart thumping through some of the passages, and I blame Helen for sleepless nights when I was wondering what would happen next!’ – Amy (Amazon reviewer)

‘I was really impressed by this book. … I was amazed how the author got inside of the mind of the serial killer and really showed you his psychotic thought processes.’ – Elder Park Book Reviews

‘The twists and turns are fascinating.’ – A J Book Review Club

‘If you love paranormal and crime novels, then this series is the one for you! But not only that, Helen also manages to grip you from the start, with romance thrown in and a lot of suspense. The stories jump from past to present throughout which shows incredible storytelling as you do not get confused by this once, it really adds to the storyline.’ – Nikki xoxo (Amazon reviewer)

Also by Helen Phifer

The Annie Graham Series

The Ghost House

The Secrets of the Shadows

The Forgotten Cottage

The Lake House

The Girls in the Woods

The Face Behind the Mask

The Good Sisters
HELEN PHIFER

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2016

Copyright © Helen Phifer 2016

Helen Phifer asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

This e-book Edition © April 2019 ISBN: 9780008209568

Version: 2019-02-27

I dedicate this book to all my amazing readers; you are what makes this all worthwhile and I’m eternally grateful for your support.

Helen xx

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Praise for Helen Phifer

Also by Helen Phifer

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Acknowledgements

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Kate Parker pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and stood with her hands on her slender hips, admiring the building in front of her. It was huge, old, a complete wreck – and all hers. This was going to be her home for the foreseeable future, hopefully for ever. The acre of land surrounding the building was overgrown and neglected, but there was a lot of potential. The one thing that Kate had always had since she was a child was vision. She knew that this sad, unloved building – once the work had been completed – would make an amazing boutique bed and breakfast, as well as the perfect home for her daughters.

‘What do you think, Amy? Does it meet with your approval? I hope so because I’m going to be investing everything that you left to me, and every penny I get from the prick when the divorce is finalised, to turn it into our dream.’

Her voice echoed then fell flat in the clearing and she had to blink back the tears. Amy – her best friend, and the sister she’d never had – had also shared this dream with her. Ever since they’d met fifteen years ago this had been their plan. She would have loved it. They had spent two years looking for the perfect property to renovate, but had never found one that quite ticked all the boxes or was within their price range. Then came the devastating news that Amy had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.

The pain in her heart always took her by surprise, the grief a sharp sting that would take her breath away. It was so ironic that now Amy was no longer here, and Kate was on her own, she had enough money to buy this property. She’d heard about it from one of the girls at the estate agent’s where she used to work before her perfect life had been washed away from under her feet.

Sam had phoned her up the same day that she’d been asked to visit and make a valuation ready to put it on the market. Luckily for her, Sam hated Kate’s ex-husband Martin – who owned the estate agent’s – almost as much as Kate did. She had come and picked Kate up, driving her to view the property. They hadn’t been able to go inside because it was boarded up at every door and window, but Kate had fallen in love with its Gothic structure, large arched windows and overgrown, neglected grounds.

Sam had handed the owners’ details to Kate and told her she would give it a few days before she rang them back to double check they wanted Parker’s Estate Agents to go ahead and market it. Kate had phoned the owners the minute she got back to her cramped, one-bedroomed flat and told them she was prepared to make them a cash offer, saving them the extortionate estate agent’s fees, if they agreed on a private sale.

Not only did the owners agree there and then that she could buy it, they told her they would accept her offer, which was substantially lower than the three hundred thousand they had told Sam they were looking for. Six weeks later, she was now the proud owner of the house and not only had she got it for a bargain but she had also managed to swipe it from under her greedy, soon-to-be ex-husband’s feet. She didn’t know what was more fulfilling: getting the property before he did or the fact that she was about to make her lifelong dream come true.

The sound of tyres crunching along the gravel broke her trance and she turned to see a battered grey van that belonged to the cowboy heading towards her. Amy had nicknamed him ‘the cowboy’ because of his love of checked shirts, faded jeans and rigger boots. Oliver Nealee worked for Martin at the estate agent’s, doing all his property maintenance, and Kate was hoping she could convince him to take over the project management for the renovations on the house. She didn’t know any other builders, and he was always such a polite, funny, hard-working man. She knew she could trust him. It was probably the meanest nickname anyone could call him – the cowboy – but it just suited him.

He parked behind her, narrowly missing her pushbike, which she’d left discarded in the long grass, and she had to grab it and drag it away from the front tyres. He swung his legs out of the van and for the first time ever she caught a glimpse of his tanned, muscled calves. The denim shorts he had on were faded just like his jeans always were.

‘Sorry, Kate, I didn’t see your bike there.’

‘My fault, I just dumped it when I got here.’

He looked at her and she hoped he wasn’t thinking what a mess she was. Her blonde cropped hair was badly in need of a cut. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and since she’d left Martin she hadn’t bothered to keep up with the Botox and fillers – all the money she’d spent the last three years trying to look much younger than her 45 years and he’d still had an affair with the office junior who was 23.

‘It’s been a while. How are you? You look great.’

She began to laugh and felt her cheeks burn. ‘Always such a gentleman. I’m okay, thanks. I know I’ve looked better, but I have no one to please now so I don’t bother.’

‘Well, you look lovely. I think you look better than you have in a while.’

There was a pause. She hoped he wasn’t going to mention her drinking. She didn’t drink as much as she used to when she was with Martin. She knew one day she would be brave enough to try and stop. In fact, she was so excited at the thought of getting her life back on track she had decided to try and cut it down once she moved into her new house. It wasn’t something she was proud of and until now she hadn’t had much reason to stop. Martin had taken her job, home, children and life away from her, leaving her with nothing. Who could blame her for drowning her sorrows in a bottle or two of wine every night?

‘So what’s all this about then? Dragging me away from unblocking a toilet for Martin?’

‘I see he still has you doing all his glamorous jobs then? I wanted to know if you would help me – well, not help me, I mean work for me. I’ll pay you more than what he pays you. I need someone to sort this out for me and I’d like it to be you.’

He looked around the building and the grounds then whistled. ‘That’s some restoration project you have there, Kate. It’s going to be a big, messy job and it won’t be cheap. I can tell you that without going inside and taking a look. Are you sure you want to do this?’

Kate stared at the house – her house – then turned and glanced at the gardens before looking him straight in the eye.

‘I can live without modern conveniences. I already have been in the crappy flat that I’m living in now. What I can’t live without is this house. I can’t explain how it makes me feel. I actually tingle inside when I look at it. I’ve never really believed in fate, but I truly believe that this house is supposed to belong to me. I knew it the very first moment I set eyes on it. And if not driving a fancy car or having my nails manicured or my hair cut and coloured every month means that I can afford to renovate it, then those are just a few of the sacrifices that I’m willing to make. So yes, I’m sure I want to do this. Do you think it’s really bad? I haven’t even been inside, but I got it for a complete bargain after I fell in love with it. It’s the only time I’ve ever felt love at first sight. Would you be able to take the board off so we can get in the front door and take a look around it?’

‘If I take the board off the door the house is going to be open and insecure for anyone to get in, unless the door actually works and it’s just been boarded up to keep it secure.’

‘Please can you take it off – and then can you fix the door for me if it needs it? Because I need to move in, today, and I don’t want it to be insecure.’

He looked at her as if she’d gone mad. ‘You want to live here, on your own, when you haven’t seen the inside? It might not be in a fit state to live in. How long has it been empty?’

‘Twenty, maybe forty-odd years, I think. I’m not too sure, but yes, I hate it where I live at the moment. It’s a cramped council flat. Last night the flat opposite mine was broken into and set on fire. The drug dealer above me had his door kicked in and seven bells of shit kicked out of him the day before, so yes living here has got to be a better option than living there.’

***

Unable to speak, Oliver shook his head, thinking that she was either insane or plain stupid for buying this house without even looking inside it. But he’d always had a soft spot for her and if he was honest with himself a bit of a schoolboy crush. He used to watch Martin treating her like a second-class citizen, openly flirting with anything in a skirt and generally being a bastard to her. If he hadn’t had enough problems in his own life he would have liked to take him to one side and teach him a thing or two about how to treat a lady, but Martin paid his wages. So until the day he didn’t need the money, he’d been stuck and unable to have his own opinion.

Oliver grabbed his toolbox from out of the back of the van. Opening it up and taking out his cordless drill, he began to unscrew the board off the front door. He wondered if she was still drinking as much. He wondered if the purchase of this house had been when she was in an alcohol-fuelled haze or whether she had it more under control now. She was such an attractive woman; it would be a shame to watch her lose her sparkle as the alcohol dulled it until she looked like all the other alcoholics her age. It made him so angry inside to see her drowning her life away inside a bottle, when Ellen – his wife – had fought for every minute of hers.

***

Kate stood watching him with her fingers crossed behind her back. This was going to be amazing. She had such a good feeling about it and just knew that it was. As he took the last screw out and prised the board from the door frame, she let out a small whoop of delight. Behind the faded board was a big, arched stained-glass door that would have looked at home in a church. It was beautiful. The dark oak looked in good condition and pretty solid. The brass lock was rusted and he held his hands out for the keys. Kate passed them to him and watched him fiddle around with them for a few minutes. It wouldn’t turn. He looked at her over his shoulder and must have seen the disappointment that was etched onto her face.

‘I’ve got some WD-40 in the van.’ He walked over to retrieve it and returned a minute later with a can of spray-on grease and two huge torches. He handed them to her then sprayed the grease in and around the lock. He tried once more and this time with a bit of twisting the key gave in and turned. He shoved his shoulder against the door, which was stuck, pushing it open to reveal the darkness inside. It smelt damp, and fusty, and it was very black inside.

For a fleeting moment Kate felt an overwhelming sense of despair wash over her, but no sooner had she questioned what was going on and it was gone, leaving her feeling excited once more. They switched on the torches and stepped inside, sweeping the beams around the entrance hall that was now covered in a thick layer of dust. It had obviously once been very grand. The walls, which were all oak-panelled, were covered in thick, grey dust. The staircase was huge and from what Kate could see underneath the dirt and debris, the floor was made up of ornately tiled mosaics.

What stood out the most was the huge crucifix draped in thick cobwebs hanging on the wall directly opposite the front door. She shivered. Church and religion had been her worst nightmare when she’d been a kid. Her mother used to make her go every Sunday without fail. She’d have to listen to Father Joe deliver the longest, most boring sermons. She looked across at Oliver’s face, trying to work out if he was impressed or not.

‘Well, what do you think?’

‘I think that you have taken on a huge task and you’re a braver person than I am, but it doesn’t seem as bad in here as I thought it would. I’m surprised to be honest, although for all we know the floors could be dangerous and full of dry rot.’

He picked up a piece of discarded wood spindling, which was lying on the floor, and banged it down hard on the tiles to make sure they were safe to stand on.

‘Follow me, Kate, I mean it – don’t walk off on your own. This place could be a death trap for all you know.’

She squealed and grabbed his arm. ‘It’s beautiful though, isn’t it? I mean it has so much potential. I can’t wait to get it cleaned up and started.’

***

He couldn’t help smiling to himself in the darkness. Her enthusiasm was catching. It did seem to be a pretty remarkable building.

They were so busy looking down at the floor, making sure it was safe to walk on, that neither of them saw the faceless, black, hooded figure hovering at the top of the stairs watching them. Kate’s torchlight caught the corner of the thick, silver crucifix that hung around its neck, making the light reflect a little. It disappeared back to where it had come from. Back into the shadows where it had dwelled for far too long.

As they walked further into the house, Oliver just hoped that Kate had the money to turn it from this into something habitable. He knew that Martin had taken everything away from her after the court case and he couldn’t help wondering where she had got the money to buy it from. Maybe it was a severance gift from Martin.

***

They walked from room to room. There were a lot of broken windows, which was why it was boarded up, and there were also an awful lot of crosses on the walls. They were everywhere and Kate felt a cold draught run down her back. It was creepy to have so many in one house. Even the church didn’t have so many of the damn things plastered around. Whoever lived here must have been some kind of religious nut. She made up her mind that her first job would be to take them all down when she came back with boxes, bags and a huge skip to fill with all the junk from inside.

She was also going to do some digging and find out the house’s history. When she had a minute, she would go to the records office attached to the local library and see what information they had on it. She wanted to make a scrapbook about the house now and what it would be like when it was finished. Something for her girls to treasure and that guests who stopped by might find interesting. This was her house now and whoever lived here before her had left years ago. She would turn it into the kind of home she’d dreamt about since she was a teenager.

There were still a lot of pieces of furniture that had been left behind, which was a nice bonus. Most of them were covered in dirty, grey dust sheets and she lifted the corners to take a peek at what was hiding underneath. Although some of it was no good, there were some pieces that were still okay. She would put them all in the outhouse and either sell them or have a go at restoring them herself to use in the bedrooms. Once they’d been painted white or grey instead of the dark, almost black oak they would be much brighter and look a lot better.

***

Oliver and Kate cautiously made their way from room to room. The ground floor was pretty solid. There were a couple of holes in the floorboards in three of the rooms, but the other five were not too bad. The plaster was falling off some of the walls and the wiring wasn’t very good. Oliver didn’t think it would be a huge job to knock out walls and add en-suites to the bedrooms. Years ago, he’d owned a thriving building business which had refit offices, hotels and pubs, so this wasn’t going to be anything that he couldn’t do. The only reason he’d sold the business was because his wife Ellen had been diagnosed with motor neurone disease and he’d wanted to take care of her.

He felt excited at the prospect of some real work, a proper project to get his teeth into. Martin Parker was an egotistical prick, but he’d come in handy and Oliver had needed something to do to keep his mind from dwelling on Ellen’s illness and her awful, drawn-out death. The odd jobs he’d done for him had kept him busy enough that it kept some normality in his life.

***

It was much colder on the first floor than downstairs and Kate found herself wishing she’d worn her jeans and not a pair of cut-off shorts and a strappy vest top. It was dark and gloomy, and there were even more of those bloody crosses. She couldn’t wait to rip them all down. They came to the smaller staircase that led up to the second floor and attic. Oliver went first and she followed close behind.

It was a little lighter up here because there were a couple of gaping holes in the roof. There were fewer rooms up here, but they were huge. This floor would be perfect for her to have a large en-suite bedroom and the girls could each have a large room. Not to mention their own living quarters if they decided that’s what they wanted – and if she could afford it after the work had been done on the rest of the house.

There were some crumpled boxes shoved into one corner and she pushed one open with the tip of her torch. Inside were piles of old leather Bibles and psalm books. Whoever had lived here must have been a travelling Bible salesman. The thought made her smile. Either that or some kind of religious fanatic. She wondered what the previous owner would have made of a woman buying this house all on her own. She did the same with the next box, which had an old, wooden cigar box inside it. She pulled it out to take a closer look.

Oliver was studying the holes in the roof and had dragged a wooden trunk over that he could stand on to get a better look. Kate opened the cigar box and smiled to see a thick, navy book with gold edges on the pages and the word ‘Diary’ stamped in gold on the front. She picked it up, wondering who it had belonged to and if whoever it was had loved this house the way that she did.

Across the room, Oliver was making lots of ‘ah’ noises. She stood up and walked towards him. Halfway across the huge, open space she heard the sharp sound of scratching coming from one of the darkened corners and paused. Her heart began to race. Oh God. Mice, she didn’t mind, but that sounded loud. Too loud to be a mouse. She’d die if the house came with resident rats.

She waited and listened to see if it happened again. Relieved that it didn’t, she put it down to a bird or maybe one of those nuisance grey squirrels that everyone kept saying were vermin, but that she found cute. She could cope with mice, birds and even squirrels. She wasn’t even going to acknowledge that bigger things with long tails and sharp teeth could be behind the noise. That way it wouldn’t be true, would it? She reached Oliver and shone her torch at the gaping hole, not really understanding what he found so fascinating about it.

‘So here’s the big question: what do I need to have fixed first and would you be willing to come and work for me full-time?’

He stepped down off the trunk. ‘The roof. You need to make the building waterproof before you even think about doing anything else in here. As keen as you are to get started, if we don’t seal these holes you might as well take your money and throw it on a bonfire.’

‘Can you do it for me, or if not do you know someone who could?’

‘I can do it. I’ve got a few jobs on for Martin, but they’re only small so I can make a start. I know a couple of lads who’ll labour for cash, but this isn’t going to be cheap, Kate.’

‘I know, don’t worry. I have the money. I’ll pay you a lump sum up front and the rest on completion. Can you draw me up some plans or do I need an architect?’

‘It’s up to you. I know a very good architect if you’d like me to give him a ring and get him to come out for a site visit. I can’t really give you a proper price until it’s all been taken into consideration.’

They made their way back downstairs and she breathed out a sigh of relief. She didn’t like the attic as much as the rest of the house. Even though it was open in places it felt as if the air was much heavier up there. She was sure once the roof had been fixed and there was working electricity it wouldn’t feel so dark and oppressive. Back on the ground floor she returned to the large room, which was off the huge room she assumed had been the lounge. It was in pretty good condition. The windows in here weren’t broken and the floor had no holes in it.

‘Please can you take these boards off for me now? I want to see what this room looks like in the daytime. I might have to set up camp in here until there’s a room upstairs ready.’

‘Kate, are you being serious? I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you really can’t live here, in this house, with it in this condition.’

‘Yes, I am – and why can’t I? As far as I can see it only needs a couple of new windows, doors, electrics and the roof fixed. It looks structurally sound. You said so yourself. The rest is all cosmetic work.’

‘I did, but it’s a wreck. It hasn’t been lived in for how long? There’s no heating or hot water. How will you manage?’

‘I have a bed, sofa, camping stove and a cool box. I’ll be fine; I might look like a complete wuss, but I can assure you that I’m not. I’m not saying I’ll like it, but I’m desperate to get started and I can’t stop in that flat another day. If I check into some hotel while I’m waiting for a room to be ready I’m wasting money, far too much money. I can be clearing up whilst I’m here and getting on with jobs that aren’t too difficult.’

‘You’re braver than I am. I like my home comforts too much.’

‘Yes, well, so did I, but since Martin decided to take away everything I had, I’ve sort of got used to doing without. Except for the wine – I can’t do without that. My life wouldn’t be worth living if I couldn’t have a glass or two to numb the pain.’

She started to laugh and he joined in, only they both knew that she meant it. Although she would never admit it to anyone, Kate knew she was an alcoholic. It had all stemmed from her teenage years of drinking every weekend down the park with her friends, then when she was old enough, nights out in the pub. It got even worse after her miserable marriage to Martin, when he would tell her he was working late and she knew he was out wining and dining his latest conquest.

Then the shock of Amy’s terminal cancer diagnosis had tipped her over the edge and turned her into a full-blown, can’t-get-through-the-da-without-a-drink alcoholic. Maybe one day when this place was finished and her life looked as if it might get back on track, she would get some help to tackle it. For now, she would try her best not to drink too much, even cut it down to one bottle a night instead of the usual two.

‘That’s emotional blackmail, making me feel sorry for you – you know that, don’t you? Right then, I’ll take these boards off and we’ll see what we can do. Where’s your stuff?’

‘Back at the flat. I’ll have to find someone to help me bring my bed and clothes here. I don’t think they’ll fit on the back of my pushbike.’

‘Well, let’s see how bad this room is and then if you decide you’re going to do this, I’ll drive you in the van to see what you need and bring you back.’

‘Really? Thank you so much, Oliver. I’ll pay you for your time.’

‘No, you won’t. I’ll do this because I think you’re mental and also because you’re a friend.’

She squeezed his arm. ‘Aw, you’re such a sweetie. Thank you.’

4 January 1933

Mother Superior Agnes Nicholas looked outside the window at the snow-covered garden and shivered. It was cold enough inside the convent and they had roaring fires burning in the lounge, kitchen and upstairs bedrooms. To be outside in this weather didn’t bear thinking about. She hated the cold. It made her swollen, arthritic bones ache.

Sisters Mary and Edith had spent most of the morning filling up the wood baskets so they wouldn’t have to go out into the garden when it got dark. Now that only the three of them lived here, the convent was far too big. Poor Sister Emily had died of pneumonia in the hospital three weeks ago, and Agnes couldn’t shake the sadness that filled her entire being, every minute of every day. Emily had been far too young to die. In turn it had made Sisters Bernice and Joanna realise life was far too short to waste on God, and they had decided to leave the next week. Leaving just the three of them to it.

Agnes wouldn’t be surprised if the church shut this place down and moved them somewhere else; it was far too big of a house for three women to run. Since that strange woman had turned up at their door that night, hammering on it as if the devil himself was chasing her, things hadn’t been quite right. The woman, who finally told them her name was Lilith Ardat some hours after she had been inside their home, had been crying and begging for their help. All three of them had been loath to turn her away, despite Agnes’s nagging feeling inside the pit of her stomach that she was bringing trouble to their door.

Edith had silently pleaded with Agnes, imploring her with those huge, blue, innocent eyes until she’d relented. Agnes had nodded her permission at Mary, who had then ushered the woman inside and down to the kitchen, wrapping her in a thick woollen blanket. She had sat her down by the crackling fire. Edith had fetched the woman a small glass of sherry and then they’d all sat down and asked her what was wrong and how they could help her.

The story the woman confided in them was one of horrific abuse, which had sent shivers down Agnes’s spine, but despite the horror she was hearing and the fact that she was a nun, there was a part of Agnes that didn’t like Lilith Ardat. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the sly smile that would spread across her face after she finished each sentence had something to do with it. Agnes got the impression the woman was enjoying sharing her tale of violence and woe with the three of them.

If Lilith was telling the truth, then the poor woman had been severely mistreated, but Agnes wasn’t convinced that she was. Although Agnes had no idea why Lilith would turn up at the convent so late on such a cold night if it wasn’t true, she couldn’t shake the niggling feeling from the back of her mind that Lilith wasn’t entirely what she seemed, or that she wasn’t the person she was trying to portray.

Mary loved a good tale of woe and despair, however. She had been sucked in wholeheartedly, gasping and making loud noises of objection throughout the woman’s tale of horror at the hands of her husband. Edith had only just said she was bored of not having anything more exciting to talk about than what Father Patrick might preach about in his Sunday sermon. She sat transfixed by the small, raven-haired woman in front of them.

Agnes had kept her distance. She didn’t know whether it was her intuition or her basic mistrust of most human beings that had stepped in, but she hadn’t gone too close. The woman had skin that was whiter than the driven snow, and lips that were red – blood red. There was a blue and yellow bruise beginning to form across her left eye and forehead.

She told them it was where he’d hit her, but Agnes thought it looked more like the kind of injury you got when you were in one of those motor cars and it stopped suddenly. As if the woman’s head had hit the steering wheel with force; although why this woman would be out driving a motor car at this time of night in this weather God alone knew the answer. This was not the sort of weather to be out gallivanting around in. It was far too cold and dangerous with the ice that covered the roads and paths.

‘She can stay in Sister Emily’s room. I’ll go and make up the bed myself.’

‘No. I don’t think that would be appropriate, Mary.’

‘Why not? It’s not like Emily is going to need it anytime soon is it?’

Agnes stared at Mary in horror; the girl was so insensitive at times. It didn’t seem right to put her into Emily’s room so soon after she had passed away.

‘She can stay in Sister Bernice’s room, Mary, and I’ll have none of your petulant arguing. Have some thought about you.’

‘Yes, Mother Superior. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll go and make the bed up.’

Edith glanced across at Agnes. She too seemed glad that they weren’t about to move a complete stranger into Emily’s room so soon. It wasn’t right and she would tell Mary this when they were alone, but she wouldn’t say anything in front of their guest. It wasn’t the time or the place.

‘Whilst Mary makes up your bed, would you like something to eat? A sandwich perhaps, or some toast?’

‘No, thank you, I’m not hungry. I don’t eat an awful lot. I have a very small appetite.’

As the woman said this she glanced across at Edith, who was the complete opposite and had a very big appetite with a fuller figure to complement it. Agnes noted the faint redness that crept along Edith’s cheeks. The girl had major issues with her weight and her even larger appetite. Not that it mattered to Agnes; everyone was different. The world would be a very strange place if everyone looked the same. Lilith stood up, shrugging the blanket from her shoulders.

‘Would you mind if I used your bathroom? I need to clean myself up a little. I must look a complete mess. I’m so embarrassed because I never leave the house looking like this. What on earth must you think of me?’

Edith smiled and stood up, leading the woman from the kitchen to the first-floor bathroom. Agnes couldn’t help but shudder when Lilith passed close by her. The woman didn’t seem to notice and she was grateful to God for that small mercy. Agnes had no idea what was wrong with her, but every single nerve in her body was screaming at her to stop the clock and make the woman leave, only she couldn’t do it. How could she send such a small, slight thing out into the subzero, freezing temperatures? She would more than likely freeze to death before she reached the village; in fact, it was nothing short of a miracle that she hadn’t frozen to death before she’d reached the convent, because it was so far off the beaten track that most people who were looking for the place in broad daylight couldn’t even find it.

Agnes could hear the muted whisperings of the strange woman and Edith’s voice as she led her along the first-floor corridor to the bedroom that had once belonged to Sister Bernice. After what felt like for ever, Mary came downstairs, followed by Edith.

‘I trust you’ve made our guest comfortable for the night?’

Both women nodded in unison.

‘Good, I’m tired so I’ll be off to bed now. Make sure that you double check all the locks on the windows and doors. I don’t want any more unwelcome visitors tonight. Do you hear what I’m saying? I don’t care who is knocking on that door – we don’t let anyone else in. Especially in case it’s Lilith’s angry husband. I’m too old and too ugly to be fighting drunken bullies at this time of night. Goodnight, Sisters. Let’s hope we all get some sleep.’

Agnes caught the look of fear that passed between the two much younger women in front of her and was glad. They were no match for a violent bully of a man and she would rather scare them into making sure they were safe than have them opening the door for every man, woman and child. She slowly shuffled up to bed; there would be no kneeling on the cold, hard, wooden floor tonight for her to say her prayers. She’d never be able to get back up again; instead she would climb between the heavy cotton sheets and pray. Surely God wouldn’t mind an old cripple seeking a bit of comfort on this cold, bitter night?

When she finished in the bathroom, Agnes went into her bedroom and for the first time in for ever she locked her door. Unable to shake the feeling that Lilith wasn’t quite what she seemed, it had made her unsettled and at a loss for what to do. Maybe a trip into the village – if the roads were clear – to speak with Father Patrick or Constable Crosby would help her decide what to do. If not, first thing in the morning, she would telephone them both and ask them to pay her a visit.

Chapter 2

Five weeks of nonstop hard work and the house was much cleaner, lighter and smelt better. Oliver and his two labourers had been in every day, working until six or sometimes later. As they opened up each room the house felt a lot better. Kate spent every hour working alongside them. By the time they went home she would make herself something to eat then sometimes carry on until ten or eleven.

When she was on her own she would open a bottle of wine, drinking it as she cleaned, sanded or painted – whatever needed doing first. She hadn’t been drinking as much because she was so tired, but if she didn’t have a drink at all, sleep wouldn’t come until the early hours.

Tonight, she’d managed to not have one, even though her hands were beginning to shake like some old drunk’s and she felt like crap. She wanted to see how bad it would feel to go without. By nine o’clock she knew she had to go to bed because the craving was so bad. Her mouth was so dry that she kept whispering ‘just one sip’, but she knew if she could make it through until the morning she might just be ready to go to the doctor’s and get some help.

She lay there on her bed, waiting for the usual tiredness to kick in. It didn’t. She’d never been so awake as she listened to the clock on the mantelpiece ticking away. Each tick sounded louder than the last and as she stared at the wall, she heard a door bang from somewhere up on the second or third floor.

Her heart was in her mouth and then she realised that Ollie – she’d shortened Oliver to Ollie because it was much easier to yell – had probably left a window open to get rid of some paint or plaster fumes. It was just a draught, nothing else. Looking at her phone because it was too dark to see the clock face, she saw it was 3 a.m. She turned on her side, closing her eyes when she heard the scratching again.

Her mouth felt even drier as she lay still, trying to figure out where it was coming from. It didn’t sound like the scrabbling sound she imagined a rat would make. Did she know what a rat actually sounded like? No, she couldn’t say that she did. What she did think it reminded her of was sharp fingernails. Scared to move, she waited for it to happen again.

It sounded as if it was coming from inside the wall opposite her bed, which was ridiculous as outside her room was the hallway. She sat up, leaning over to turn her bedside lamp on, and felt better as the warm glow filled the room. She got out of her bed and crossed to the wall by the door. Her heart racing, she pressed her ear against the wall and waited for it to happen again. Five minutes passed. She couldn’t hear anything.

Her imagination was running wild and she imagined someone on the other side of the wall in the same position as she was, ear pressed against it listening for sounds of movement from inside her room. Her neck started to feel stiff and she stood straight, telling herself she would have to get some mouse traps tomorrow. There was no more scratching, so she got back in the bed and knew that first thing tomorrow she would ask Ollie to check for rats or squirrels.

As she lay there thinking about how much she liked having the cowboy around, she felt a warm sensation spread over her, and then she reminded herself he was married and that it was an absolute no to even think about him as anything more than a friend. She knew how much it had hurt her deep inside to see Martin openly flirting with women who were half of her age. Every time he had done it had been like a kick in the stomach – a reminder from him that she was never quite good enough for him.

Her eyes finally getting heavy, she was drifting off when a loud thud on the floor above her made her eyes fly open. It had come from the room that was almost finished. She jumped and sat up, pulling the covers over her. She was probably extra jumpy because of the lack of alcohol flowing through her veins. She waited, holding her breath, but there was nothing more until she finally lay back down. Squeezing her eyes shut she willed her brain to shut down and let her sleep. But then, from the same room, came the sound of footsteps on the wooden floorboards – not heavy or loud, but light.

Kate reached out and turned on the small bedside lamp once more, her heart racing. Someone was upstairs. She listened, not daring to breathe out, and they came again. They were definitely footsteps – walking faster this time. Her hands were shaking. She didn’t know what to do. She picked up the phone to dial the police, but her finger hovered over the button. This was her house. She should really go and take a look. It didn’t sound as if it was some six-foot rugby player stomping around, more like a ballet dancer moving gracefully.

She threw back her covers and stepped onto the cold, tiled floor. Shit, it’s freezing. She didn’t dare to put her too big slippers on because of the noise they made, so she picked up the torch from under her pillow and then crossed the room and grabbed the small, wooden baseball bat that she’d got on a holiday years ago. She wasn’t a violent person, but if someone had broken into her house they would get a quick whack on the head for their troubles.

Creeping from her room, she left the door ajar because it creaked loudly as it closed. She made her way to the staircase. She stood at the bottom, listening for any sign of where her intruder could be. Her mobile phone felt heavy yet comforting in her pocket. There was no sound from upstairs so she made her way up, taking each stair one at a time then pausing when she reached the top.

The room above hers was seven doorways down the wide corridor. She shone the torch around and every one – except for that one – was shut. She was tempted to run outside and phone the police, but her pride wouldn’t let her. She’d feel like an idiot when the nice young officer they sent did a check of the gardens and stumbled across her recycling bin. They would think she was running some kind of private drinking club with the number of empties inside it, then they would ask who lived here and she would have to say ‘just me’. She could feel the look of pity they would give her, burning her soul to the core.

No, it was better for her to have a look around. If she still wasn’t happy, she could phone Ollie. No doubt he would come and make sure she was okay. Although she had no idea what his wife would think about her disturbing him at such a late hour. She waited, but couldn’t hear anything. Her heart pounding, she began to walk towards the open door.

Had she shut all the other doors today or had he? They had agreed to keep them all shut to cut down on the draught until the entire house had heating in. She would ask him tomorrow when he came. Tomorrow seemed so far away at this moment in time. The torch felt heavy in her hands and the beam was moving everywhere because she was shaking so much.

Before she knew it, she was standing right in front of the door she thought the footsteps had come from. The darkness inside was all-consuming. Come on, Kate, you know the score. There could be some mad axeman waiting in there for you. How many times have you watched the film and screamed at the television for the stupid woman to phone the police or to run? But she couldn’t. She had to check inside that room and prove to herself she wasn’t hallucinating. After all she’d been living here for five weeks now and had never heard anything up until tonight, and then the voice inside her head whispered: You’ve never been sober before tonight. You’re normally comatose by now, oblivious to the world in your wine- or vodka-induced sleep.

Lifting the torch, she shone it directly through the door as if to prove herself wrong. She wasn’t imagining this. Her heart was pumping the blood around her body so loud she could hear the fast thump, thump of it in her ears. The beam shone into the darkness. Her mouth was dry as she moved the torch around and couldn’t see anything. A little braver now, she stepped forward and reached her hand around the door frame, feeling along the wall for the light switch. As her fingers found it, she pressed it and held her breath.

Light flooded the room – the empty room in which a window was still open and the piece of net curtain across it fluttered with the breeze. She smiled to herself, relieved that it was nothing, and then she turned and saw the crosses. Her feet froze to the spot and she let out a shriek. On the wall above the light switch, there were three wooden crosses all hanging in a row. She had been in here earlier and there wasn’t anything on the freshly painted wall then.

How had they got up here? The very first thing she’d done the day she moved her sparse belongings here had been to go around with a cardboard box and take down every single cross and crucifix that had been dotted around the house, because they completely freaked her out. She had then taken the full box outside to the shed around the side of the house, not wanting to throw them away because it didn’t seem the right thing to do. She had quite happily pushed the sellotaped box into the side of the shed and left it there.

So who the fuck had put these up on her freshly painted walls? If they thought it was some kind of joke they could think again. She crossed the room and slammed the sash window down a little too hard. Minute pieces of wood splintered off and fell to the floor with the impact. Bugger, she needed to be more careful. A whole houseful of new windows wasn’t on her list of priorities. Not until she had to anyway. The plan was to only replace the ones that wouldn’t open or were broken; the rest would be taken care of when the money started to come in.

She walked over, about to pull the crosses from the wall, when she realised how dark it was outside, how late it was and how no matter how brave she felt she wasn’t walking around to the shed at this time of night. Instead she walked out of the room, turning off the light and shutting the door firmly behind her with her trembling hands.

She needed a drink. Turning on the landing light now, she switched off the torch, not wanting to drain the batteries. The upstairs landing looked so much better bathed in light. She would need to have some wall lights fitted or at least a couple of side tables and lamps that were kept on all night so the guests wouldn’t get freaked out by the darkness.

Kate let out a sigh. She’d never even considered anything like this. It was a much bigger project than she’d realised. It wouldn’t be half as stressful if Amy was still here to help her. Hot, salty tears filled her eyes. She missed her friend so much since she’d died six months ago. She didn’t think she’d ever really laughed since. Well, not like the pair of them used to – setting the world to rights over a couple of bottles of wine. Amy would say something funny and they would laugh until the tears rolled from their eyes.

Kate wondered if anyone would ever make her laugh like that again. She certainly hadn’t had anything to laugh about lately. She found herself downstairs in the huge kitchen that was an empty shell apart from the fridge, microwave and a battered old pine table with three chairs. She opened the fridge and pulled out the vodka. She didn’t want to sit around drinking a glass of wine. She needed an extra-large shot of something strong that would knock her out.

Grabbing a wine glass off the end of the table where what little cutlery and kitchen essentials she owned were stacked, she filled it to the top with vodka, emptying the bottle. Leaving the bottle on the table she went back to her room, sipping the vodka as she went. She didn’t want to spill any and waste a single drop.

She left the lamp on. It was staying on. The thought that she should be checking the house filled her mind. She wasn’t that brave. If someone wanted to break in and put up crosses on the wall, they could get on with it. There wasn’t anything apart from the builder’s tools worth stealing. She knew the scratching was probably mice or worse still, rats. Ollie would deal with them for her. She might have even imagined the footsteps, because Ethan or Jack had probably put the crosses on the wall before they left for some kind of joke. They weren’t to know that they’d freak her out. In fact, it made perfect sense and she convinced herself that was what had happened.

Ollie could deal with those two as well as her vermin problem, and sanity would be restored to her life once more. She looked at her lonely bed. God what she’d give to have someone lying in there waiting to wrap their arms around her. She was so bloody sick of being on her own. As she sat down on the bed, she lifted the glass to her lips, closed her eyes and then drank it down. She coughed and spluttered as the neat vodka burnt its way down her throat, filling her with warmth. Her head began to feel muzzy.

Putting the glass on the bedside table she climbed back in, feeling sick as the room started spinning. She muttered to herself: Too much, Kate. One of these days you’re going to kill yourself – and a part of her wondered if that would be such a bad thing. The last few days, she’d had fleeting moments of despair at how much work needed to be done before they could open the house for business, followed by mild anxiety attacks. She’d never been one to suffer with her nerves, but she’d go into certain rooms or parts of the house and her stomach would start to fill with butterflies for no particular reason, which was unsettling her. She’d think about the huge project that she’d taken on and brush the feelings away as anxiety.

She had no one who wanted her. Maybe dying would be the best thing for her – even though the thought of leaving her girls terrified her. Just then, her eyes closed as she finally fell asleep.

Upstairs, the footsteps that had paused continued from room to room, looking for something that had been lost a very long time ago, but Kate was oblivious to it all.

***

Ollie let himself in with the spare key that Kate had given to him. He was much earlier than usual, but he wanted to get the next room finished. He had told himself that if he managed to get two bedrooms up and running, with the bathrooms plumbed in, then maybe Kate could have her daughters over to stay with her.

Martin couldn’t really say no to her now she wasn’t living in that grotty council flat and it might cheer her up, because although she’d never said as much he could tell she was feeling down. If she had her kids to stop it also might mean she would drink a little less. He felt bad for checking up on her, but he counted the empty bottles every morning in the recycling.

It was none of his business what she did and he knew this, but he liked her. If he was honest with himself, there was something about her that he found very attractive and he didn’t want to see her throwing her life away. She had so much to live for – plus he kind of felt responsible for her now he was seeing her every day. The poor woman was even lonelier than him and he’d thought he had it bad.

He was surprised to see the same number of bottles as yesterday and was secretly pleased, until he got to the kitchen and saw the empty vodka bottle on the table. Bollocks. He walked down to her room. It wasn’t like her not to already be up and pottering around. Then again, he was early and it looked like she’d hit the hard stuff last night.

Lifting his hand to knock on her door, he stopped mid-air. What are you, her father? This is none of your business, Ollie, so keep out of it. Instead he listened at the door for any sign of life. He heard a gentle snore and the bed creak as she moved. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was sleeping in and then he stepped back and walked away.

This was well and truly overstepping the mark. It was beyond their working relationship and he felt like a dirty old man for even thinking about her like that. Instead he went back to the kitchen where he began to make some toast and a pot of tea, banging around loudly and hoping she’d wake up.

As he finished setting the teapot on the table, he turned and jumped to see her standing there yawning. She was wearing a pair of mismatched pyjamas. Her hair was tousled and sticking up and she didn’t have a scrap of make-up on. She looked so sexy. Mortified, he had to turn away before she noticed what a funny shade of red his face had turned.

‘What time is it?’

‘I’m early. It’s only eight o’clock. I thought I’d get started on that second bedroom. I wanted to make a big difference today.’

‘Thanks, Ollie, that’s really kind of you.’ Kate sat down, putting her head in her hands.

Ollie poured her a mug of tea out and passed her some toast. As he reached over he caught a whiff of her perfume. It was the same one his wife had worn. Funny how he’d never noticed that before. Then again, he’d never been in such close proximity to Kate in her pyjamas either. Normally they were both covered in plaster dust and muck. She sipped the tea and picked up a slice of toast, nibbling on the corner. She held her head up with one hand. He kept telling himself not to say it, but it came out before he could help himself.

‘Heavy night?’

She looked at him and he saw the faint redness beginning to creep up her neck. He could have kicked himself. It was none of his bloody business what she did so why was he so bothered?

‘Not really, I couldn’t sleep. I tried my best to drift off but then I heard scratching on the wall and I thought I heard noises coming from the bedroom above mine. I had to go and investigate, but there was nothing there.’

‘It’s an old house, Kate. It would make lots of noises anyway as the floorboards settled once the air cooled. With the amount of work we’re doing, it’s bound to increase – especially at night when there’s no one banging around up there and you’re here on your own. I never thought to mention it to you.’

She nodded her head. ‘Oh, that reminds me. Did you leave that bedroom window and door open?’

‘No, I was the last one in. I’m sure of it and I could swear that I shut them both. Why?’

‘They were both wide open when I went up there and it was freezing cold. And I didn’t think the crosses were very funny either.’

He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. His first instinct was that she’d been drunk and didn’t know either, but then it bothered him that the window was open. He distinctly remembered closing it because he’d wondered whether or not he should leave it open an inch to air the room out.

‘How wide open was the window?’

She put the mug down and lifted her hands apart quite some distance.

‘I didn’t leave it like that. I’m positive.’

‘Well, someone did. It doesn’t matter now. It just gave me a bit of a fright being on my own and sober for the first time in, well, in a long time.’

‘What happened, Kate?’

‘Not much really, apart from me deciding that I’d not drink and then I couldn’t sleep because of the scratching and noises.’

She leant forward onto her elbows, managing to knock her mug and spill tea all over the table. He jumped up to get some kitchen roll and mop it up.

‘No, I mean exactly what happened that caused you to come back down and finish off almost half a bottle of vodka?’

He could have kicked himself. Now she was going to think he was some weirdo who was keeping tabs on her. This was her house and her life. What right did he have to know how much vodka she had left in the bottle or how much she’d drunk? She hesitated, and he knew that once more he’d put his size eleven foot in it and embarrassed her.

‘I was lying in bed and heard noises from upstairs – footsteps to be exact – so feeling brave, I went up there to see what or who it was. All the other doors were shut except for that one; it was wide open. So I forced my shaking legs to walk down and have a look inside. That’s when I saw the window open and figured the breeze had opened the door, but it doesn’t explain who put those fucking awful crosses on the wall. To tell the truth, I was really pissed off about that last night. I spent ages that first afternoon going round collecting them all. Now I don’t want them in my house and if it was some kind of joke, then that’s enough and we can forget about it. But it was all just a bit too freaky at three o’clock in the morning. So can you tell Ethan and Jack no more, please?’

‘First of all, I don’t know anything about any crosses. I’ll ask the lads if they do when they get here, but they left before I did. However, most importantly, why didn’t you phone the police? It could have been a burglar or a tramp.’

She shrugged. ‘I’m not a complete wimp, and I’m used to all sorts of people – I had no choice living in that flat. And let’s be honest there’s not much to steal, is there?’

‘Phoning the police doesn’t mean you’re a wimp. You are on your own living in this huge house in the middle of nowhere. Phoning the police is the sensible thing to do. Or you could have phoned me. I would have come over.’

‘I did think about it – ringing the police and you – but the police would have looked me up and seen that I’d been previously arrested for drunk driving. Then they’d have thought I’d had one too many glasses of wine and not taken me seriously anyway. I’m sure they have far more important things to do. I didn’t ring you because I didn’t want to disturb you so late. That is way beyond the call of duty as my project manager and builder.’

‘What about my being your friend? I’ve known you a long time, Kate. I’d like to think that we weren’t just in a business relationship.’

He wanted to kick himself. What was wrong with him this morning? He didn’t know whether it was the sight of her sitting there, looking as sexy as hell, or the concerned big brother coming out in him, but he clearly wasn’t thinking straight. She pushed her uneaten toast to one side and stood up.

‘Thanks for my breakfast. I’d better go and get dressed.’

He watched her leave then stood up himself. He needed to get cracking, otherwise he was going to end up running after her and saying something he might regret later, when he was at home thinking about everything.

This was none of his business. Kate had made that quite clear. She didn’t think of him as a close friend. If she had she would have called him last night and she hadn’t, which hurt him, but he’d get over it. From now on he would keep it purely professional: no flirting, laughing or joking. At least the job would get done quicker. The harder he worked the less time he’d have to think about her and her situation – or so he hoped. He put the mugs and teapot in the sink then went out to his van.

***

Last night seemed so far away now and Kate had been dreaming about the last time she’d taken her girls shopping. Amy had come with them and they’d done the full works: Trafford Centre, Nando’s for lunch. Back then, she had never imagined how shitty her life was going to turn less than three months later.

She noticed the empty vodka bottle was now in the bin. She needed to get a grip and sort her life out. Ollie was a kind, good-looking man, but he was also a married man and there was no way she was going to go there – no matter how lonely or scared she was or how much her hormones were telling her to.

5 January 1933

Sister Agnes had not slept more than a couple of hours. She had spent the whole night freezing cold and having the most horrific nightmares where she was burning in the depths of hell. The pain as the searing heat crackled and blistered her skin had almost been too much to bear, and at one point she’d woken up in a cold sweat – breathless – only to drift off and continue with the same dream.

Not only had she been there, but so had Edith and Mary. Mary had been doing the most sinful of things with a half-man half-beast creature and Agnes hadn’t been able to look away because she was shackled by her arms to a rough stone wall.

As she opened her eyes and saw the murky, grey light filtering through the window she breathed out a huge sigh of relief. Never had she had such impure thoughts – and at her age, it was wrong. She would be praying extra hard for her soul at morning prayers today. She wondered why she had dreamt about such depraved filth.

After getting out of bed she washed, dressed, took her rosary beads from the dressing table and placed them around her neck. Instantly she felt better, purer, and closer to God and nature. She would sleep with them on tonight if it meant she wouldn’t have such terrible dreams. The house was quiet. Everyone else must still be asleep, which was good. It gave her a chance to make a pot of tea and gather her thoughts.

It would also give her the chance to decide what to do about Lilith. The woman couldn’t stay here any longer. There was something about her that was off kilter. Agnes never judged anyone on face value, but the sneaky grins and smirks whilst Lilith was relaying her tale of woe last night had stayed with her. Who in their right mind would smirk about being beaten and forced to do terrible things?

As she sipped her tea she felt a shadow fall over the kitchen door and turned to see Lilith standing there, watching her. She was so surprised that she spilt the hot liquid all over herself, scalding her arm. She hadn’t heard the woman leave her bedroom or come down the stairs. Lilith rushed to the sink and picked up a dishcloth. After running it under cold water, she pressed it against Agnes’s arm. Her touch made Agnes jump once more. The woman’s fingers were colder than slivers of ice if that was possible.

‘Have you hurt yourself badly, Sister?’

Agnes shook her head.

‘Did I give you a fright? I’m sorry about that. I’ve always been an early riser. I hate lying in bed wasting the day when there’s so much to do, although I do hate the sunlight. My skin is so fair that I can’t go out in it. Don’t you agree? Why don’t you run your arm under the cold water? I’ll clean this mess up and then make us a lovely fresh pot of tea.’

Agnes pushed herself up from the chair and crossed to the sink. Running the tap, she held her arm underneath it. The whole time she watched Lilith as she cleaned the spilt liquid from the table, then set about getting fresh teabags from the cupboard along with clean cups. How did she know where everything was? Last night she had been sitting sniffling and crying, too upset to watch them making a pot of tea. Once again, the feeling that Lilith was not what she seemed washed over Agnes.

When the teapot was on the table along with clean cups, Agnes turned the tap off and took a clean tea towel from the wooden rail to wrap around her arm, blotting it dry. She forced herself to sit back down. The back of her throat felt parched she was so thirsty. Lilith poured fresh cups of tea and passed one to her.

‘Now you be careful, Sister Agnes. We don’t want you burning yourself again, do we? There is nothing worse than the lingering slow burn of hot liquid on such delicate skin.’

Agnes took the teacup and blew on it. She hoped that her trembling hands wouldn’t betray her and spill this one all over. She prayed even harder that Lilith wouldn’t notice the trembling was in fact pure fear and would put it down to old age.

‘Thank you, dear, that’s very kind of you. I didn’t sleep very well last night. I think I’m still half asleep.’

Lilith smiled, making the skin on the back of Agnes’s neck crawl. Later on that night she would describe to Father Patrick that she thought being stared at by Lilith was how it must feel to be a fly trapped in a spider’s web.

‘I have to say I’m very fortunate that I stumbled across this place last night. I thought I was going to freeze to death out there – it was so cold. Thank you so much for giving me permission to come in.’

She nodded at Agnes as she spoke. Agnes’s head was spinning. What was this about? Almost every sentence Lilith said seemed to have a hidden meaning to it. Or was that just her taking everything and twisting it to fit her mindset? At a loss for words, she forced herself to smile at Lilith. Thank you for giving me permission to come in. Agnes felt as if her brain was screaming at her, warning her, only she couldn’t work out what her subconscious was trying to tell her. The sound of heavy footsteps running down the stairs broke the awkward silence between the two women as Sister Edith breezed in.

‘Good morning, Mother Superior, how are you today?’ She looked down at the white linen tea towel wrapped around Agnes’s arm and gasped.

‘Oh my goodness, what’s wrong? Have you hurt yourself?’

‘It was just an accident, Edith – my own silly fault. Good morning, I trust you slept well?’

‘Do you want me to take a look at it?’

Agnes shook her head. She didn’t want Lilith looking at it again and giving her an excuse to get too close to her. ‘No, it’s fine; it’s nothing honestly.’

‘I did sleep well, but I had the strangest dreams. To be honest, I can’t believe it’s morning already. The night passed by so fast I feel as if I haven’t been to bed.’ Edith smiled at Lilith then busied herself making breakfast for everyone. By the time the porridge was bubbling on the stove and the thick crusty bread had been sliced ready to spread with butter and jam, Sister Mary still hadn’t appeared and Agnes stood up.

‘If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll just go and see if Mary is okay. It’s not like her to oversleep when you’re banging around in the kitchen, Edith. I’ll be back down shortly. Please don’t wait for me – just tuck in.’

Agnes would normally make all three of them say prayers before they ate, but for some reason the thought of praying in front of that woman made her feel queasy. Today she would do her praying to God in private, as far away as possible from Lilith. She went upstairs and knocked on Mary’s door. There was no reply.

‘Mary, is everything okay? Do you need anything? Are you ill?’

There was no sound from inside the room. Agnes put her ear against the heavy wooden door to listen. There was no movement and Mary – who was a heavy sleeper and snored quite loudly, much to Edith’s annoyance – wasn’t making any noise whatsoever.

Cold tendrils of fear crept up Agnes’s spine. She tried the door handle; it was locked. So Mary had been worried enough last night that she’d had to lock her bedroom door as well. That made two of them. She would take Edith to one side and ask her if she had done the same. Agnes lifted her hand and knocked on the door. Still there was no movement from inside the room. She knocked again, much harder this time and shouted, ‘Mary!’

A hand on her shoulder made her jump and Agnes turned to see Edith standing there.

‘Come on, Mary, what did you do last night after we all went to bed? Did you have a go at the cooking sherry again? Open the door and come get your breakfast.’

***

Edith smiled at Agnes, expecting Mary to tell her to bugger off any second.

The last time they hadn’t been able to rouse Mary, she had finished off half a bottle of whisky Father Patrick had left behind. Oh, it had been funny to watch Mary walking around with her head in her hands and being sick every time someone mentioned food the day after. Agnes didn’t like them to be mean to each other, but it was only a bit of a laugh. Edith knocked much harder than the older woman ever could. She stopped briefly then began to hammer on the door with her fist.

Agnes reached out her hand to stop her. ‘Something’s wrong. We need to get into that room. Have you got a spare key?’

Edith shook her head. ‘No, sorry. I should have told you when it happened. I misplaced the key ring you gave me last year with all the spares on and seeing as how we don’t normally lock our doors, I didn’t think it really mattered that much.’

‘Edith, what are you like? How are we going to get in there now? I’ll have to phone Father Patrick or Constable Crosby to come and break the door open.’

***

Agnes turned to see Lilith standing at the top of the stairs watching them and she shivered.

‘Is everything all right, ladies? What’s the matter with Sister Mary?’

Agnes ignored her and squeezed past her to go downstairs. As she did a faint whiff of something gone off filled her nostrils. Where was that smell coming from? It smelt like meat that had been left too long and was on the turn. She left Edith knocking on Mary’s door and Lilith standing watching. She picked up the phone and dialled Constable Crosby. The relief when he answered the phone almost made her cry.

‘It’s Sister Agnes from the convent. Please can you come as quickly as possible? We can’t get into Sister Mary’s room and she isn’t answering anyone. We’ve knocked ever so hard and shouted very loudly. I’m afraid she’s taken ill.’

‘I’m on my way, Agnes.’

She put the heavy receiver down. It really was most unlike Mary to lock her door. She went back upstairs to see Lilith seated on the top step picking at her long, deep red painted fingernails.

‘Is there anything you want me to do?’

Leave! screamed a voice inside Agnes’s mind, although she would never say that. She was far too polite and that wouldn’t be a very charitable thing to do. She knew that Father Patrick would be disappointed in her lack of empathy for a fellow human being.

‘No, thank you, I don’t believe there is. Can I ask how long will you be staying here, Lilith? Do you have family or friends you can stop with?’

The words came out before she could stop herself. A loud knock on the front door broke the interaction between the two women. Agnes went downstairs to let a rather red-faced Constable Crosby inside.

‘By heck, it’s cold out there, Agnes. I didn’t think the patrol car was going to start. Have you woken Mary up yet?’

‘No, we haven’t. There’s no answer. I can’t even hear her snoring and trust me, Crosby, she has on occasion snored so loud that it’s kept me awake all night.’

Crosby chuckled at the thought of a nun snoring. ‘Right then, you’d better show me which one is her bedroom. I have to say I never thought I’d get to see the day I saw the inside of a nun’s bedroom.’

He winked at Agnes who shook her head. He was a loud, brash and sometimes funny man who was also very good at his job. He was a big help whenever they had cause to ask him for any. She led him upstairs. Lilith was now standing across the hall from Mary’s bedroom with Edith. Her slender arms were crossed and she smiled at Crosby, who looked at her and smiled right back.

‘A new recruit into God’s army, Agnes?’

Lilith giggled. ‘I’m afraid not, Constable. I don’t think he would let me join. I’m not a very good girl.’

She winked at him and Agnes noted the faint redness creeping up his neck. She pointed to Mary’s room and he strode across and hammered on the door with his fist. It was so loud it echoed around the hall; in fact, it was so loud Agnes was sure it would wake a deaf person.

Constable Crosby stopped to listen at the door. Silence greeted him. Agnes felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. They didn’t need a policeman to tell them something was wrong. He lifted his foot and kicked the door. It moved a little, not much. So he stepped back then barged the door using his shoulder and putting his substantial weight behind it. The door splintered and cracked. He looked over his shoulder at Agnes. They both knew the noise he was making was loud enough to wake the dead, so why hadn’t Mary opened the door?

As he launched himself at the door once more, it gave with a loud splintering sound and he stumbled forwards. He seemed to be trying to take in the sight before him, but his eyes would not or could not register what he was seeing. Agnes motioned with her hand for Edith and Lilith to wait there. She stepped in behind Crosby and, just as he had, she looked around trying to understand what it was she was seeing. The normally white walls were covered in splatters of red. The smell hit them both at the same time, making them gag. Agnes lifted her hand and made the sign of the cross. Crosby uttered one word: ‘Fuck.’

***

It had taken hours before the police had taken Mary’s body away. Father Patrick had taken them all into the front room where they’d prayed for Mary’s soul. There was no way she had killed herself and it couldn’t be murder either, could it? Constable Crosby had needed to break the door down himself. The windows were shut and locked from the inside.

Agnes’s first thought had been that somehow Lilith’s husband had gained entry into the house, looking for his wife, and killed Mary by mistake. Then she realised it had been her who had unlocked the front door to let the constable inside and all the locks and bolts had still been fastened. It didn’t make any sense and throughout everything Lilith had kept very quiet. She hadn’t suggested it was her husband and she had taken to her room, locking herself inside.

Agnes had spent over an hour with Crosby and Father Patrick, talking them over what had happened since Lilith had knocked on the convent door. Father Patrick had done his best to reassure both women that it wasn’t their fault. Yes, it was very strange, but they would find out what had happened. Edith, who hadn’t stopped crying for hours, had started to panic when Father Patrick had told them he was going back to the vicarage and he’d had to promise her he would go home, get a change of clothes and then come back and spend the night.

By this time Lilith had come out of her room and was loitering in the doorway of the front room. She kept smiling at the priest and Agnes didn’t like it one little bit. Agnes had asked Patrick if they could tell the woman to leave when they had been alone in the kitchen, but he’d shaken his head.

‘Agnes, I admit it’s all a very strange and sad coincidence, but that’s all it is. We can’t really tell her to leave when she has nowhere to stay that’s safe. The church has always been a safe place, a haven. How many times have we offered sanctuary for those in desperate need? Over the centuries, it’s been too many to count. Lilith needs our compassion and our help. We will let her stay here until she has somewhere safe she can go to.’

‘Very well, Father. There’s something about her that I can’t put my finger on though. She makes me feel uneasy.’

‘Agnes, if I didn’t help the people who made me uneasy I’d never be able to do my job. It will be fine. The poor woman must be terrified, escaping a violent husband then waking up to this. We must be patient with her and show her more kindness than before.’

‘Very well, Father, whatever you wish.’

Agnes wasn’t happy at the thought of Lilith still being a guest inside the house. Father Patrick had offered to bring someone in from the village to clean up the mess in Mary’s room and Agnes had declined. She thought it was the least she could do and she wanted to see what had happened, now that Mary had been taken away to the undertaker’s, the various parts of her body all wrapped up in a sheet.

Crosby had told her before he left that they could clean up the mess if they wanted to either tonight or tomorrow. As tempting as it had been to leave it until tomorrow, Agnes wasn’t a fool and knew that the room smelt horrendous already. To leave it another day before trying to clean up the blood and mess would make it unbearable.

Edith was in the kitchen with Lilith and Father Patrick, so Agnes went to the cupboard under the stairs where they kept the disinfectant and mop buckets. She took a big bottle of bleach, a box of rags and the mop bucket. Locking the door behind her, she went upstairs. Mary’s room was the seventh one along the landing. The door wasn’t shut properly because of Crosby’s attempts to kick it in.

Agnes’s mouth felt dry and her hands were trembling at the thought of going inside it on her own, but she needed to do this. She was in charge of running this convent and the responsibility weighed heavy on her shoulders. Mary’s family would be coming tomorrow and might want to stop here. It was the least they could do and she wouldn’t have them going into their daughter’s room if it was still stained with her blood.

Agnes was only a small woman, but she was strong. The corridor seemed to her as if it had increased in size because Mary’s bedroom door looked so far away from where she was standing at the top of the stairs. As she forced her feet to walk forwards, she began to pray under her breath. She prayed for Mary and for the rest of them because she couldn’t shake the feeling that what had happened to Sister Mary was just the beginning of something terrible.

The smell hit her as she got halfway along the landing and her empty stomach lurched. She crossed herself. How had this happened to Mary? What had happened? It didn’t make any sense to her whatsoever. They had all been fine last night.

Agnes thought she heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming from Mary’s room and she paused to listen. The police, doctor and undertakers had all left. There should be no one here. She waited, her heart racing. Stop it, woman, you’re scaring yourself. Holding herself straight, she walked the last few steps and listened at the door, pressing her head against the wood to make sure there was no one still in there. She was greeted by silence.

She pushed the door open and gasped once more; the sight in front of her eyes was horrendous. Earlier had been bad enough, although the shock had numbed some of it. The blood was everywhere. It was as if someone had taken a paintbrush and splashed it all around the white walls. The bed had the white outline of where Mary had fallen, but surrounding it and bleeding into it were dark, almost black congealing pools of blood.

The stench was how Agnes imagined an abattoir would smell. That was it. Mary had been butchered to pieces in her own bedroom and not one of them had heard a sound. How had that been possible? Her eyes fell onto the book on Mary’s bedside table: Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Something bothered Agnes about that book, but she didn’t know what. Why had Mary been reading that? Mary and Edith had been to the picture house in the town to watch it and both of them had come back scared of their own shadows for days. So what was it that had compelled her to go out and buy the book?

Agnes stepped forward and reached out for the soft, leather-bound book. As she flicked open the front page, her eyes began to stream and her nostrils flared at the strong smell that was emanating from it. It smelt like embalming fluid, but what on earth would that be doing on the pages of a book? Agnes had helped out at the undertaker’s a few times back in her younger days and although it was hard to describe exactly what it smelt of, it always had the same effect on her. Dropping the book back, she stepped away. Something strange was happening in this house and she didn’t have any idea what it was.

Agnes started to blot, wipe, scrub and wash every trace of blood away that she could find. Every couple of minutes she would twist her head from one side to the other to look behind her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. Mary’s room was huge, but so were all the others. It was a massive house, which had obviously been designed for a wealthy family. Not a small group of women who had given up their everyday lives to serve God.

She was kneeling on the floor, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bloodstain, when she felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle as a cold gust of air rushed against her. She pulled herself from her knees, which made two loud clicks that echoed around the room as they straightened up. Agnes half expected that woman, Lilith, to be standing in the doorway watching her. She turned around. There was no one there.

The room was beginning to smell much better. The harsh, coppery stench of the blood was being wiped away by the strong-smelling ammonia. There was another smell coming from the corner of the room where Agnes felt as if someone was standing. It smelt like electricity. Agnes would describe it to Father Patrick as the smell in the air when there was about to be a thunderstorm. She waved her hand in front of her, expecting the air to crackle and fizz, but it didn’t.

She hummed to herself, one of her favourite hymns. She was too old to believe what her mind was trying to say. It was being ridiculous. She was being silly. For whatever reason, Mary had done that to herself. Agnes didn’t know why or even want to know how, but there was no evidence that suggested any other explanation.

She turned back to the floor and felt her heart miss a beat to see the book that had been on the bedside table moments ago now on the floor, next to her mop bucket. How? There had been no noise, no draught. Agnes knew that she hadn’t knocked it over herself; with a hand that was shaking so much she found it hard to get her fingers to pick the book up, she gripped it as tight as she could. The icy-cold leather stuck to her fingers and she shook them, almost dropping it with revulsion.

She started to read the words in front of her and the room began to spin. Frankenstein’s monster had just killed Victor’s new wife Elizabeth. Tucking the book into her pocket she left the room, unsure of what or who was watching her, but certain that someone was. She went to the bathroom to clean herself up. Her clothes were ruined and smelt terrible. She turned on the taps and began running herself a bath. As she undressed, she looked into the mirror, asking herself: ‘Are you going mad, woman?’

She didn’t feel as if she was. Her face didn’t look much different. Well, apart from the few new wrinkles that had appeared around her eyes and forehead overnight. Once more the feeling she was being watched made her shiver. She turned around to check the door was still locked. Then she slowly bent to look through the keyhole and make sure that there wasn’t anyone peering through it; although what anyone would want watching a 60-year-old naked woman was beyond her.

She squinted; all she could see through the tiny lock was the landing outside the door. Wondering where Lilith was, Agnes straightened up and walked across to step into the bath. This wouldn’t be a quick in and out like usual. She would be spending as long in here as she could. She needed to soak away the smell of dear Mary’s blood, not to mention her aches and pains from being scrunched up on the floor scrubbing.

As she sunk into the steaming water she wondered what had happened to change the dynamics of this house of God, and try as she might the only conclusion that she could come up with was the arrival of Lilith Ardat. Why did she feel such revulsion towards the woman? Agnes didn’t dislike many people; it wasn’t in her nature. Why had they let her in? What was it that she had said to Agnes earlier? ‘Thank you for giving me permission to come in.’

Agnes had her own horror book tucked away in her bedside table drawer. She had read Bram Stoker’s Dracula many years ago. Her copy had been a gift from her sister – just before she’d died – so even though Agnes hadn’t particularly enjoyed the story, the fact that the book was more sentimental to her meant that she kept it close to her. Agnes had been terrified of the vampire Count Dracula and his wicked, evil ways when she’d read it, but she knew it was only a story. All this talk of not having a reflection and needing to ask permission to enter someone’s house was plain ridiculous. Or was it?

Chapter 3

The house no longer smelt old, damp and empty. It now smelt of plaster, wood filler and paint. There were two bedrooms finished and the en-suite bathrooms were plumbed in so that Kate could have a hot shower after a hard day’s graft. She had begun reading the old diary that she’d found on the very first day and had to stop because it was terrifying her. She’d discovered that the house had been a convent at one time, which explained the crosses when she’d moved in.

The first few pages had been written beautifully. Then the writing had changed as if the writer, Agnes, had been in a hurry to document what was going on. Kate read about a nun who had died here, in her house. She shuddered as a strange feeling washed over her. She had a great-great-aunt called Agnes who had been a nun. What if this book belonged to her? She pushed the thought away. Agnes was probably a popular name back then. It was just a coincidence.

The death of the poor woman sounded so violent. After she finished reading, Kate had then gone upstairs. She had gone into each bedroom, studying the floorboards for bloodstains. Unable to distinguish any from the paint splatters and dust, she’d given up after Ethan had asked what she was looking for. Kate had laughed and gone back down to put the small diary away because it had terrified her. She was just relieved that all of this had happened such a long time ago.

To take her mind away from the terror in that small book, she had spent hours poring over the magazines that her friend Sam had dropped off for her. Kate was trying to decide on a practical yet perfect kitchen. She didn’t want to spend a huge amount of money. Because of the size of the room, it was going to be expensive – even if she picked a cheap one.

Ollie had been a godsend. She didn’t know what she would have done without him these last few weeks. He always stayed later than Jack and Ethan – the lads who worked for him. Kate often wondered what his wife thought about the amount of time he was spending here, but it wasn’t any of her business. For all she knew, they could be on the brink of a divorce and his wife was glad to see the back of him. She wished she knew because the more time she spent with Ollie the more she liked him.

Kate sat down on the top step, an overwhelming feeling of tiredness taking over her. As exciting as this project was, it was taking it out of her. Today she hadn’t been able to shake the headache that she’d woken up with. She decided she needed strong painkillers washed down with a mouthful of vodka. She crept down to the kitchen for a shot of the ice-cold alcohol that was in the freezer compartment. After glugging down the tablets she went straight to the bathroom and brushed her teeth. Ollie was hardly going to find a 45-year-old alcoholic attractive, was he? And she still felt embarrassed by the need to use alcohol to get her through the day, although she wasn’t drinking as much now. She was making a conscious effort to reduce her intake.

As she patted her mouth dry, she looked into the mirror. Her life had gone almost full circle and she was lucky it didn’t show on her face. The wrinkles she had feared so much in her thirties hadn’t put in much of an appearance, except for the laughter lines around her eyes – although the last twelve months she hadn’t really had much to laugh about. Maybe they were crying wrinkles because she’d spent a whole lot more time crying than she’d done laughing.

The air, which was normally full of minute particles of plaster dust, smelt different. As Kate turned around to open the bathroom door, she inhaled again. What was that smell? It smelt like old leather, burnt skin and garlic all mixed together and it was rank. She looked around the bathroom then opened the door out onto the corridor. It was stronger out here.

The lads had all gone into town for their dinner – even Ollie had gone with them and he normally ate a packed lunch, but all they’d been talking about during the morning had been meat and potato pies and cream cakes from the bakery. She stood and listened to the house. It was so silent and still without the workmen banging around and singing.

Kate wondered if it was some kind of chemical that they’d used and walked along the hall to the room they had all been working in. The door was shut. She was sure it had been open when she’d passed it to go to the toilet. She heard her name being called and stood still. Was she hearing things? It sounded like Amy’s voice calling for her, but that was ridiculous. She waited, her head turned to the side.

‘Katie, where are you?’

It was so faint, but there was no mistaking it was Amy’s voice and Kate smiled briefly. ‘Amy, where are you? I’m here.’

Even though it was broad daylight, her heart raced as she thought about her dead friend calling out to her from the same room where the crosses had appeared on the wall with no explanation. Both Jack and Ethan had strongly denied having anything to do with them when Ollie had questioned the pair of them.

She walked towards the room. Pressing her ear to the heavy wooden door, she listened to see if there was anyone inside or if it was her imagination. Call it instinct or whatever, but her mind was screaming at her not to open the door whilst she was alone in the house. There was a loud thump from inside as if something heavy had been dropped from quite a height. It made her jump away from the door as her hands began to shake. What was that?

She pulled her phone from her pocket and pressed 999, her finger poised above the green call button, ready to ring for the police. If it was Amy inside there, she wouldn’t scare her. Placing her head back against the door, she heard the sound of something heavy moving towards her. It was too big and clumsy to be her friend, who had been a tiny little thing. It sounded as though it had to drag itself towards the door.

Kate pulled back, terrified. She wanted to know what was in her house, but she wasn’t brave enough to open the door and see. She opened her mouth to shout that she was calling the police. Nothing came out. Instead she heard a loud thud as whatever it was caught the ladders on the other side of the door and they crashed to the floor. Which meant it was at the door and it would be coming through it very soon.

She forced herself to turn and run as fast as she could down the stairs and to the front door, where she slammed full force into Ollie. He was carrying a white paper bag with meat and potato pies inside. He dropped the pies to hold his hands out to catch her, but she was coming that fast she managed to knock them both to the floor in a heap.

‘Get out, we have to get out.’

***

‘What’s the matter, Kate? Have you hurt yourself?’

Ollie wanted to sound like a gentleman, but she couldn’t have really hurt herself when she was lying on top of him. He was slightly winded, but it was the pies that had sustained the most damage. One of them had exploded all over the inside of the bag and there was meat and potato filling seeping out all over the floor. She pulled herself off him and turned to look behind her. There wasn’t anything there.

‘Something was coming. There’s something in the bedroom. I don’t know what the fuck it was, but it knew my name. We need to get out and call the police.’

He stood up and held his hand out to pull her up from the floor where she was kneeling, her face whiter than the paint he had all over his hands.

‘Whoa, what do you mean? What’s coming?’

She shook her head and grabbed his hand, tugging him back out of the front door. He looked down at the mess that was his dinner on the floor, then followed her outside. She didn’t stop until she reached his van and clambered inside, slamming the door shut.

***

‘All right, Kate, what’s up with you? You look as white as a sheet.’

Ollie opened the door. He shrugged at Jack and Ethan, who were both sat in the back seat eating their pies.

‘Do you want to tell me what happened? Why you almost gave me a heart attack and crushed my dinner that I’ve been dreaming about eating all morning at the same time?’

Feeling stupid, Kate felt her cheeks begin to flush as she realised she sounded like a lunatic.

‘I smelt something weird in the bathroom. When I came out it was stronger on the landing and then I heard my friend Amy call my name. Only it couldn’t have been her because she’s dead. I followed the voice and the smell to the room you were working on less than half an hour ago.’

All three men were leaning forward, obviously wondering what she was going to say next.

‘I sound stupid, don’t I?’

Ollie shook his head. ‘No, not at all. You heard your name called, something smelt weird and then what happened?’

‘I couldn’t open the door. I was too scared so I listened and I heard the sound of something heavy. It was cumbersome and it was slowly moving towards the door. Well, I knew you lot had gone to get some dinner and it scared me. There’s someone or something inside the house and I don’t know who or what it is!’

‘You wait here. Me and the masked avengers will go inside and investigate.’

‘Shouldn’t we just phone the police?’

‘I’m pretty sure whatever or whoever it is won’t want to mess us three around. We’ll be fine, won’t we, lads?’

‘Speak for yourself, boss. If something scared Kate then who are we to doubt that?’

‘I don’t bloody believe it, you wimps. What’s wrong with you?’

Ethan got out of the van. ‘I’m not a wimp, but Jack is a complete wuss. Aren’t you, Jack?’

Jack gave Ethan the finger. ‘I’ll wait here with Kate, make sure she’s okay.’

Kate could feel her hands shaking and she clasped them together. She felt so cold even though it was a warm autumn day. She watched as the two men went inside her house and felt as though she’d just sent them in to their deaths, the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach was so intense.

‘I can’t stay here and wait. I have to go with them.’ She jumped out and ran to the door, closely followed by Jack who was muttering underneath his breath. She ran into the entrance hall, stepping over the crushed pies on the floor and saw Ollie and Ethan almost on the top stair. She ran as quietly as she could until she was on the step behind them. Ollie pointed to the bedroom that they’d been working in and she nodded. Ethan looked at Ollie who was now standing with his hand on the doorknob. He twisted it then threw the door open.

Kate, whose legs had turned to jelly, saw that the room was empty. There was no huge man in there with an axe waiting to kill them all, and no ghost of Amy. Ollie stepped inside followed by Ethan. They checked the en-suite, but the door hadn’t been hung yet so they could see straight inside it from where they stood. All of them let out a huge sigh of relief except for Kate. She knew that she’d heard something inside there. She could also detect a very faint odour, the same as before, but it was residual and not as strong.

***

Ollie didn’t say anything. He was wondering if she’d been on the vodka again whilst they’d been gone. Alcohol could play strange games with a person. He stole a glance at her to see if she was a bit worse for wear, but she didn’t look like she was. What she looked was scared and he wanted to pull her close and hold her more than anything.

‘I’ll go and check the attic. Ethan, you and Kate can check the rest of the rooms on this floor. Jack, you go and check the ground floor. I’ll also do the cellar. Is that okay with everyone?’

They all nodded and Kate muttered, ‘I swear to God I’m not going mad. There was someone inside this room.’

No one spoke. They just went their separate ways and checked every room, nook and cranny in the whole house. After ten minutes they all met up again in the kitchen. Kate had picked Ollie’s crushed pies up, which were still steaming hot, and put them onto a plate for him. He took one look at them and began to laugh. In fact, he laughed so hard that tears fell from his eyes.

‘That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. One of them was yours, by the way, so I should divide that mess onto another plate.’

***

Kate smiled. Ollie had the nicest laugh she’d ever heard. Martin’s was such a loud, false guffaw, but this was a proper belly laugh.

‘No, thank you, I’ve done enough damage. I don’t want to deprive you.’

‘I already had one in the car on the way back. I swear I’m not eating that on my own. I’ll only eat half if you have the other. I’m not being rude, Kate, but you never eat. Even a pie in that state will do you a world of good.’

‘If you don’t mind sharing then that would be great. I’m actually starving. It’s the smell that’s making my mouth water. If I don’t look at the mess on the plate, I’ll be able to eat it.’

Ollie turned to take a plate from the cupboard and a knife from the drawer. After scraping half of it onto the other plate, he passed it to her. She picked up a fork from the draining board and began to eat, hoping it would stop the sick feeling in her stomach and stop her hands from shaking so much.

Ethan and Jack left them to it and went back upstairs to finish painting the walls of the room that had caused all the fuss. Ollie dead-eyed the pair of them, clearly warning them not to start gossiping about Kate when they got up there. He waited until they were out of sight and she’d finished eating.

‘So do you want to tell me what exactly you thought was going on, Kate? I’m worried about you. This is a huge house for one person to live in on their own. You’re bound to get a bit spooked. I know that I certainly would.’

‘I’m not hallucinating or drunk if that’s what you think. We both know that I drink, but I don’t drink through the day and I’ve been trying to cut down of an evening as well.’

She thought about the swig of vodka she’d downed her tablets with, but that didn’t count, did it?

‘I didn’t say that. I don’t like the fact that you’ve heard things. And what about those crosses? We haven’t got to the bottom of how that happened, have we? Does Martin know about this place? Because I’m worried he has something to do with it and is trying to scare you half to death so you’ll leave.’

‘I don’t know, Ollie. I didn’t think about that. You know, I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s such a sneaky bastard. If he thought I was doing well for myself he’d jump straight in and try to rip it all away from me.’

‘Do you think we should get some basic CCTV cameras that cover the outside of the building and the drive? That way, if anyone is sneaking around you’ll be able to see them and ring the police. I know it’s an extra expense, but it would make me feel a whole lot better and you would feel a bit safer. I hate leaving you each night on your own.’

Kate felt her heart skip a beat at his last words. Had he really just said that or was she making a much bigger thing out of it than was completely necessary? Why the hell were all the nice men spoken for? He was such a gentleman and she hoped his wife appreciated just how lucky she was. If she was married to Ollie she wouldn’t ever want to let him out of her sight because he was too bloody perfect.

‘Do you mean that? I mean, do you think cameras would make it better?’

‘It wouldn’t hurt. If you wanted I could have them fed through to my laptop at home as well, and then both of us could keep an eye on the place. Plus if we catch Martin or one of his cronies on camera you can give it to the police and they won’t be able to deny it. I have to say, though, you are the bravest, craziest woman I’ve ever met. Not to mention stubborn. Most people would have run off by now and booked into a hotel.’

‘Do you know anyone who could fit some cameras for me?’

‘I do. I’ll give him a ring now.’

He wandered off, pulling out his mobile phone, and she put the plates in the sink, filling it with hot, soapy water. She had no idea what had been upstairs, but she knew something had been and she didn’t think it was Amy. When she had a chance she would Google what the hell that smell had been. Funny how it had all but dissipated when the men had come back. She didn’t believe in spooky stuff as a rule, but the footsteps, crosses and now this were making her wonder exactly what was going on.

This house had once been a convent, a holy place of residence, and women had lived here all alone then. The number of crosses and crucifixes around the building had been unreal. She would have to pluck up the courage to read the rest of the diary to see what exactly had happened here. She could also do some research to find out more about the history of this place as well. When had it stopped being a convent and who had last lived in here?

Ollie had been right about one thing: she was stubborn. She always had been since she was a little girl. This was what she and Amy had dreamt about so there was no way she would turn her back on it just because she’d had a bit of a fright. When this place was open and she was a respectable businesswoman who was earning her own money, she would be able to take Martin to court and fight for custody of her girls.

She missed them so much. It was like a huge, gaping hole in her heart that couldn’t be filled. It ached and ached. She missed tucking them in at night and reading them bedtime stories. The smell of their freshly washed hair, as she kissed their heads goodnight, filled her nostrils. The pain that followed was so intense it was as if someone had taken a knife and pushed it right through the middle of her heart. Coupled with the loss of Amy, it was no wonder she’d unravelled as much as she had.

Kate felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She pulled on her jacket and walked to the front door. She needed some air, some space away from the house. She walked outside.

***

Ollie, who had been speaking on the phone to his friend about how many cameras were needed, watched her from the landing window. He wanted to run after her, walk with her, look after her. What was happening to him? He’d sworn that he’d never look at another woman after Ellen’s death but here he was, attracted to a woman who wasn’t remotely interested in him. He was so angry with himself because he felt as if he was being unfaithful to Ellen even thinking about Kate in this way, but he couldn’t help it.

For the last five years he’d watched Ellen get sicker and sicker. It had taken away every feeling except despair from him. He’d forgotten how it felt to have every nerve ending in your body on fire just being close to someone you found attractive on every level. Not to mention the embarrassment of the erection he’d got when she’d knocked him to the floor earlier and almost straddled him. He’d had to push her off so she didn’t think he was some kind of pervert.

He watched Kate heading towards the stream and the woods, and wondered if he should run after her, take some time out to walk with her. Then his phone rang and he answered it, to confirm they would need at least four cameras to cover the building. When he looked up she was gone, and his heart ached for her just a little, enough for him to realise that he was in big trouble and falling for her whether he wanted to or not. He hadn’t been able to save Ellen, but if he tried maybe he could save Kate from throwing her life away and make her realise that he was there for her.

Chapter 4

Kate found a narrow, overgrown path that led to a stream, which was bubbling away with the recent rainfall. There were some stepping stones across the stream that were covered in green moss. She had no idea how she’d known this, she just had. As she cautiously stepped onto the first one, she expected her feet to go from under her and land arse first in the freezing-cold water, but she managed to keep her footing. Only four more to go.

She stepped onto the next, then the next until she reached the other side and jumped the last bit. Landing on the slippery banking, she almost fell. After windmilling her arms, she managed to catch her balance and let out a sigh of relief. This side of the river was much darker than the open ground she’d just crossed. There were lots of trees and she could just make out where the narrow path continued. Having no idea where it led – but now intrigued – she followed it, enjoying the silence of the woods around her.

Whoever had lived in the house must have used this path quite a lot. After ten minutes she saw a clearing in the trees and the tall spire of St Mark’s church came into view. She carried on walking and smiled to see the clearing open onto a worn, wooden gate. It was like the book she’d read when she was a girl: The Secret Garden. The gate didn’t look as if it had been used in a long time. The black, cast-iron latch was rusty. Still, Kate had to try. She needed to know where it led. She felt as if she’d been brought here or even as if she’d been here before – a very long time ago.

After jiggling it around, it gave enough so that she could lift it. The gate was stiff, swollen with years of rainwater, and she had to tug it with both hands. It opened a tiny bit – just enough for her to get both hands through the gap. She wrapped them around it and pulled as hard as she could. It didn’t open all the way, but it opened just enough for her slender figure to squeeze through. As she did, she turned around and was surprised to see she was in the vegetable garden of another large house. A long overgrown, neglected vegetable garden. It looked as if the current owner didn’t have a lot of time or love for tending his garden.

This house was almost as big as the one she lived in. It had the same Gothic, arched, tall windows and was built of the same red brick. Whoever had built her house had also built this one. She felt a cold shiver run down the length of her spine and wondered if she should even be here. Was she trespassing? Probably, but she wanted to go and ask the owner if they knew about the house and its history. There was obviously some kind of connection between them.

Taking the least overgrown route to the house, she fought her way through the dense blackberry and gooseberry bushes. Their sharp thorns snagged her jacket and caught the soft skin on her hands more than once. By the time she’d reached the back door of the house she was out of breath and itchy. She didn’t dare to knock on the back door – that seemed so rude – but she couldn’t see a way to get to the front door.

There was a padlock on the gate and she wasn’t about to start climbing over the garden wall. Someone might call the police and think she was a burglar. That was all she needed. Martin would have a field day. She’d come this far. It seemed stupid not to at least give it a knock and speak to whoever owned it. She walked up the three steps and banged on the back door twice, then she stepped away. It didn’t seem as if there was anyone in. She couldn’t hear any noise and the curtains were drawn.

Kate was ashamed to say that she didn’t even know who any of the locals were. They changed almost as often as Martin changed his girlfriends. She lifted her hand to knock again when the key turned in the lock and an extremely good-looking young man opened the door. His expression was one of mild confusion as to how someone was knocking on the back door when the gate was clearly padlocked.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m really sorry to be so rude. I wondered if I could speak with the owner. Is he in?’

‘He is. Why don’t you come inside? Can I ask you, though, how on earth you got here?’

Kate felt her cheeks begin to burn. Answer that without sounding like a complete weirdo, you idiot.

‘I erm, I followed a path from my house through the woods and it led to the gate at the very back of the garden.’

‘Is there a gate out there? I never even knew that. The day I moved in I took one look at that garden and walked straight back inside the house. Gardening has never been my thing. I much prefer playing Call of Duty when I get a minute. Terrible, I know, and not very healthy, but we all have our vices.’

He started laughing and Kate joined in.

‘Sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself. I was so shocked to hear someone banging on the back door I thought I was hearing things. Tell me, did you fight your way through all those brambles? That must have taken some doing.’

‘I did and I’m sorry. I bet you think I’m a right weirdo but honestly, I’m not. I’m Kate Parker and I live in the big old house on the other side of the woods.’

She held out her hand, which he took and shook firmly.

‘I’m Father Joseph, but you can call me Joe. I don’t really do all the formalities unless I have to. It’s nice to meet you, Kate from the other side of the woods. Now what can I do for you, because there must be some reason you decided to break and enter into the jungle of my back garden?’

Mortified to realise the man was a vicar, Kate was about to splutter an apology when he laughed again.

‘Gotcha, I don’t care. If you’re brave enough to enter the back of beyond there must be a good reason.’

‘I just wanted to know if anyone knew the history of that house I’ve bought? It looks very similar to this one, only bigger. I’m in the process of renovating it. I’m turning it into a bed and breakfast, but there have been a couple of strange incidents and it just made me wonder who lived there before. Well, I know it was empty for at least twenty years and I know it was a convent in the 1930s, but I don’t know anything else.’

‘Ah I think I know the place you’re talking about, although I’ve never seen it myself. I’ve only been living in the vicarage three months and I’m still getting my bearings. It’s a shame Father Anthony wasn’t here; he would know. He was the parish priest here for a very long time – over thirty years. Would you believe that he took over from Father Patrick – who was here even longer? I’m sure Father Anthony would know all about your house, but he’s not been very well. He’s in the retirement home.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame, bless him.’

‘If you like I can make some enquiries. I’m going to visit him tomorrow. If he’s well enough I’ll ask him if there’s anyone you can talk to. Have you tried the records office at the library?’

‘No, not yet and that would be brilliant, thank you. I’ll go into town when I have a minute. I’m up to my neck in renovations. The builders are knocking the house to bits.’

‘Ah I see. When you say strange things have happened, what exactly do you mean?’

Kate didn’t want to say that she thought someone who smelt of old leather, burning flesh and garlic was in her house, and that they were possibly putting up crosses on her freshly painted walls like they were going out of fashion, in case he thought she was completely off her head. She wanted to tell him something, however. He had the kind of face that made you want to confess your sins without setting foot inside a church.

‘Earlier on I thought I heard my friend calling my name when there was only me in the house, only she died three months ago. When I’m on my own at night, after the builders have gone, I hear footsteps on the floor above me, but whenever I go and check there’s no one there.’ She stared at him, waiting to see if he would start to laugh at her, thinking she was mad. He nodded his head.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Sit down. I’ll make us a strong pot of tea and then we’ll talk.’

She sat down on the hard wooden chair and watched as he poured boiling water into the teapot. It was very relaxing watching someone else take over for a change. He put a cup and saucer in front of her and took a packet of chocolate biscuits out of the cupboard, shook half of the packet onto a plate and put it on the table.

‘My mum would be so proud if she could see me now.’ He winked at Kate, who laughed. For a priest, he was a funny guy.

‘So, Kate from the other side of the woods, it’s time to talk serious. Do you believe in ghosts? Spirits? Zombies? The undead?’

‘I suppose so. I can’t say I’ve ever really thought about it. What has that got to do with my house?’

‘For want of a better word, I’ve always been fascinated with anything that wasn’t quite normal. I wouldn’t usually disclose that to someone who I’ve only just had the pleasure of meeting; however, I get the impression that you need my help so I’d be grateful if you could keep this between us. I loved reading and hearing about ghost stories when I was a kid, then as a teenager I used to go on ghost hunts with my friends. Granted, most of the time we were pissed and wouldn’t have heard a ghost if it had been screaming in our faces, but we did it. You name an abandoned building and we would go, in the dark with a crappy old camcorder and a torch. Any old hospital, church, cemetery, you name it we went there.’

‘I don’t understand. How do you go from being a ghost hunter to becoming a priest?’

‘Because, Kate, this is where it gets serious. I saw some scary stuff that I couldn’t deny existed and if that exists then so must God. In fact, I scared myself so much I couldn’t stand to be on my own. So I figured the best way to get over it was to become a priest – plus you get a free house and it’s not the worst job in the world.’

He laughed that infectious laugh. ‘I can’t believe I’m telling you my deepest, darkest secrets when we’ve only just met, but there’s something about you, Kate. You remind me of myself a little. What I’m trying to say in the most ridiculous way ever is that sometimes things that go bump in the night can’t be explained in a rational way. Of course, we should always, always look for ways to debunk stuff – that’s a given – but when things can’t be explained then we need to look for other explanations. These incidents you’ve told me about, I find a little worrying.’

‘So you think my house is haunted then?’

‘No, I’m not saying that. What I’m saying is just because it doesn’t sound rational don’t discount it. You’re doing a lot of renovating by the sounds of it so it could just be the house settling at night or it could be that all this work you’re doing has disturbed something that had once been at peace. However, there are different types of haunting. There are your benign spirits who just want to stay where they were the happiest, or they might not even realise they’re dead. I look at it this way: they are still living their life in a different time frame to you and I. Sometimes we get caught up in each other’s worlds, usually only for the briefest of moments, but it does happen. And then there are the real, scary, serious hauntings of either a person, place or even an object. I don’t want to scare you, but if there is something in your house calling your name and mimicking your friend; well then, you need to be very careful because this isn’t a residual haunting. It’s intelligent.’

Kate shuddered. The thought that she might have spent her money on a haunted house was not an attractive one. She sipped her tea, wondering if she’d made a mistake coming here or whether she’d been led here by someone who was looking after her. Her first thought would be Amy; her friend wouldn’t want her putting herself in any danger, be it spiritual or conventional.

‘I can see by your face you’re not impressed with me, Kate, and I’m sorry. I just believe in being honest. I don’t want you to spend months hoping it will go away if there’s another reason for it.’

‘No, it’s not that at all. I just never expected my walk in the fresh air to clear my head to end this way. It’s all a bit bizarre.’

‘Maybe you were meant to find me. After all, that took some determination to cross the jungle out the back. Why don’t I give you a lift home – save you ripping what skin you have left on your hands to bits – and I can take a look at the house for you? I’ll make some enquiries and be back in touch as soon as I find something out. How does that sound?’

‘Bloody marvellous. Thank you so much, Joe.’

He nodded and stood up. ‘To be honest, I was stuck and was just about to lose my life, so maybe you were sent to save me from that bloody game that has taken over everything.’

He picked up his keys from the dresser in the hall and she followed him to the front door. An old VW camper van painted pale blue and cream was parked outside.

‘Wow, I’m impressed. You don’t see many priests driving one of those.’

‘Thank you; to be honest, you don’t see many priests like me. I like to be different and besides she’s been on many a ghost hunt with me. She knows how things work.’

He opened the door for Kate and she climbed in, wondering what exactly Ollie would think when he saw her getting dropped off in this by a man half her age who wasn’t wearing anything that remotely resembled a vicar’s outfit. Joe jumped in and started the engine, which sounded like a tank.

‘She’s a bit noisy, but you soon get used to it.’

Kate nodded. Her hands were stinging now. She needed to go home and wash the scratches before they got infected. She just wanted to put her pyjamas on and drink a bottle of wine to blot today out. Clear her mind of what happened earlier, of thoughts of her ever-growing crush on Ollie and of her newfound, slightly crazy friend. Could today get any stranger? She hoped not. She didn’t think she’d be able to cope with it.

As she directed Joe to the drive of her house, she saw Ollie hanging out of the first-floor window shouting up at Ethan who was hanging out of the one above. Her heart lurched. Good job health and safety didn’t visit often. She watched as Ollie turned to see who was driving the camper van. He lifted his hand to cover his eyes and squinted. As they got nearer, the surprise on his face when he realised she was in the passenger seat made her heart beat faster. Stop it now, woman.

‘I see what you mean. This house does look a lot like the vicarage. I didn’t even realise it was here. There’s certainly some connection. Don’t you think?’

‘Yes, now that I’ve seen it I think there is. Are you coming inside?’

She looked at his face, which had lost all the ruddiness from earlier; there was a fine film of perspiration on his forehead as they drove nearer to the front door.

‘No, I can’t. Not this time. I’ll just drop you off if you don’t mind. I’ll be in touch as soon as I find something out about the history of the house. Is that okay with you?’

Puzzled, she nodded her head. Why wouldn’t it be okay? She barely knew the man; he didn’t owe her anything. He stopped the van to let her get out, some distance from the entrance.

‘Thanks again for the lift and erm, I’m sorry about the trespassing.’

He smiled at her then began to reverse, not even answering. Strange young man, she thought to herself. Then again you didn’t get many men his age wanting to become priests, did you? She stood watching as he drove away in a plume of black exhaust fumes.

The sun was beginning to set in the sky and she wondered how late Ollie would stay tonight. She wished he would stay here all night. How nice would it be to know he was there? Hell, she wanted him to stay in her bed. She wanted to make love to him then lie next to him, just knowing that he was there. It had been so long since she’d had anyone to snuggle up with. Martin had never been the snuggling type.

Christ, she needed to stop comparing him with the useless idiot who was her soon-to-be ex-husband. Ollie was nothing like him. There was no comparing the pair of them. She let out a loud sigh. Instead she would spend tonight on her own, trying not to think of what Joe had been talking about, scaring her half to death. She would lock herself in her room with her earphones in listening to music or watching a nice, romantic film until she fell asleep and couldn’t hear any footsteps or smell old leather or burning flesh. Then she would wake up in the morning, ready to start the day again. Groundhog Day had nothing on the way her life was going at the moment.

5 January 1933

Agnes towel-dried herself, relieved to be rid of the coppery smell of Mary’s blood. Her hands still smelt faintly of bleach. She didn’t mind that smell so much – at least it was clean. She thought about going to church to pray for Mary. It was dark outside now and the ground was treacherous with black ice. She would never make it across the river. The stepping stones would be like walking on ice. Instead she decided to go the prayer room downstairs and spend the next hour praying for Mary’s soul. By the time she’d done that her appetite might have returned and Father Patrick should be back.

Agnes had managed almost her whole life without a man to take care of her, but tonight it was what she needed, what they all needed. A strong male presence might be enough to deter Lilith from whatever her plans were; she just hoped that Patrick would see through the woman’s sob story. The more she thought about it the more she was convinced Lilith wasn’t who she seemed. The woman scared her, but Agnes wouldn’t let her see that. She wasn’t stupid.

Dressed in a warm jumper and slacks, she went downstairs to find Edith and see if she wanted to come and pray with her. After checking the kitchen, front room, library and dining room she finally found her huddled by the fire in the parlour, her head bent close to Lilith’s. They were talking in hushed tones and didn’t notice her walk into the room. She coughed and Edith jumped away from Lilith as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

‘Sister Edith, I think you and I should go to the prayer room and pray for Sister Mary’s soul.’

Edith stood up, her cheeks burning. ‘Of course, Mother Superior.’

Edith scurried out of the room, but not before turning to look at Lilith and smile. Agnes felt every hair on the back of her neck stand on end. What had they been whispering about and why the secrecy? If Agnes wasn’t wrong, Edith’s cheeks were flushed as if she’d been caught doing something forbidden. Agnes led the way to the prayer room and opened the door for Edith, who darted inside.

‘Is everything okay, Edith? You looked a little perturbed back there when I walked in. Is there anything you would like to tell me?’

‘Yes, Agnes; no, I mean. Everything’s fine. We were just discussing Lilith’s ex-husband. We didn’t want to upset you any further than you already are. He’s a terrible man – so violent and so sadistic towards poor Lilith. I can’t believe she’s not dead because of him.’

‘You do know you can talk to me about anything, don’t you? I might look old and past it, but I did have a relatively normal life until it kicked me to the gutter and I turned to God. I’m not just a frail, old maid.’

‘Of course I do, Agnes, and I don’t think that at all. Thank you. I will if I need to.’

But Agnes couldn’t push it out of her mind. Edith was the most impressionable of them all, and she wanted to know what that woman had been whispering to her about – more than ever.

***

Edith could feel her cheeks burning because Lilith had been talking about sex – something that she could never in a million years discuss with Agnes. Something that she’d never discussed with anyone. Lilith led such an exciting life. She had been telling Edith how it felt to kiss another woman and Edith had been enthralled. It had made her skin tingle just thinking about it. The whole reason she had joined the convent was because of her fascination with women.

Of course, she’d never acted on her feelings. Her parents would never have forgiven her if she had. She would love to know how it felt to kiss and do immoral things with another woman. She had pretty much managed to stop thinking about it the last twelve months, but Lilith had stirred something in her tonight and she had a warm, tingly feeling between her legs. She wondered what it would be like if Lilith – with her small, slender hands and long, red painted nails – was to touch her between there.

‘Edith.’

Edith jumped and looked to see Agnes’s outstretched hand. She couldn’t concentrate. This was terrible. She tried to think about poor Mary and her body, which had been ripped into pieces, but she couldn’t get past the thought of Lilith’s small, perfectly formed mouth. How would it would feel just once to press her lips against it and push her tongue inside?

‘Sorry, I just can’t concentrate. I feel so bad about poor Mary and I can’t settle.’

‘Very well, you can go and do what you like. Maybe you should go to bed, have an early night. I’ll pray for us both and Mary.’

‘Thank you, Mother Superior, I think I’ll do just that.’

Edith turned to leave and as her fingers reached the doorknob, Agnes turned to look at her.

‘Oh, and Edith… I wouldn’t get too close to Lilith. I don’t trust her and I don’t know why she’s still here. Surely she has family or friends she can go and stay with? Has she mentioned anyone to you?’

Edith shook her head. She couldn’t tell Agnes what she’d been thinking. That she wanted to do nothing more than get close to Lilith. Her cheeks flamed bright red at the thought and she rushed from the room. Her head down, she ran up the stairs and along the hall to the very last door at the end of the long corridor where her bedroom and sanctuary was. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Breathless, she opened the door and slammed it shut, then turned the key in the lock.

She gasped as she turned around to see Lilith lying on her bed, completely naked. Edith wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. Instead she crossed the room, shedding her own clothes until she was as naked as Lilith, who patted the empty side of the bed next to her. Edith climbed in. Her last thought before she touched Lilith’s pale, white skin was God forgive me for being weak. I’m so sorry.

***

Agnes prayed long and hard. She heard the front door slam as Patrick came in, but still carried on praying. Edith was acting strange. She had no idea where that woman was – probably in her room, or so Agnes hoped. It seemed that everyone had taken to meek and mild Lilith and fallen under her spell, except for her. Agnes felt repulsion fill her entire body every time she looked at her.

When she finally finished she stood up and kissed the cross around her neck, then she went to the kitchen where she found Patrick removing the emergency bottle of brandy from the back of the cupboard. She sat down, crossing her hands on her lap. He put the bottle and two glasses down onto the table. She watched as he poured both himself and her a drink. She liked Patrick. He didn’t expect anyone to wait on him hand and foot like the last vicar who’d rarely made the effort to visit the nuns. When he’d finished he sat down and smiled at her.

‘Agnes, can I be frank with you?’

She nodded.

‘You look tired; today has been a very long day. How are you?’

She thought about saying the usual: ‘Oh I’m fine, Father. I’ll be right as rain tomorrow,’ only she couldn’t. Her shoulders felt so heavy with the physical weight of sorrow for Mary that she didn’t know where to start. Her eyes were stinging with unshed tears that were threatening to spill: tears of sorrow, pain and loss. Not to mention horror at what had happened.

‘The truth, Patrick, is I don’t know. I feel as if something has changed in this house and I know I sound like a crazy old woman, but I’m not. I’m still the same as I was before I went to bed last night. I haven’t lost my mind even though I feel as if I have. Something is wrong. I can feel it in the air and I know how ridiculous I sound because I have no idea what it is or what to do.’

‘What do you mean something has changed in the house?’

She leant in close to him. ‘The atmosphere, can you not feel it?’

He shook his head. Agnes felt a wave of anger wash over her. This was no good. He didn’t see or feel anything wrong. She could. It felt to her as if the house had come alive, as if it were some giant, slumbering beast that had slowly woken up after a very long time. If she strained her ears she was convinced she could hear its heartbeat, very faint, but it was there: a steady thud, thud, thud, which seemed to reverberate throughout the entire house.

‘Today has been a very long one. We’ve all had a huge shock. What happened to Mary? Well, I have no idea, God rest her soul. I’m sure he’s taken her into his arms and she’s at peace now. I think perhaps you should take yourself to bed and get some rest, Agnes. I’m here. I’ll sleep in the lounge. Don’t worry, I’ll listen out and if you need anything then shout and I’ll be there.’

‘Yes, Father, thank you.’

She pushed her brandy away. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach made it churn at the thought of drinking any more of the sweet liquid. As she stood, she saw Mary’s reflection staring back at her from the kitchen window. Her head hung limply to one side and her arm was missing. Blood was dripping from her mouth and the front of her nightdress was covered in the bright red liquid.

The room began to swim and Agnes heard the sound of a chair being scraped back against the parquet floor. A strong pair of arms caught hold of her before she fell to the ground. Patrick scooped her up and carried her upstairs to her bedroom as if she were no heavier than a feather. He laid her on the bed and stepped back.

‘Agnes, should I phone for the doctor?’

‘No, thank you; I think you’re right, Patrick. I’m very tired and I haven’t eaten much today. I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning.’

She watched him leave, closing the door behind him. As soon as her legs felt strong enough to carry her weight she would lock it, then drag her heavy chest of drawers across to put in front of it. What good that would do was beyond her, but it would make her feel better. A voice whispered in her ear: It didn’t help poor Mary, did it? She’s still here, stuck in this house with nowhere to go. Agnes could no longer keep her eyes open and she closed them, sinking down into a deep sleep. So deep that she didn’t make it off the bed to lock her door.

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