The Guesthouse

by Abbie Frost

  Chloe’s face burned with anger. ‘Well if you loved him, how can you believe he did this?’ She pointed a finger at Rosa. ‘You think he’s a killer? That he murdered two people?’ She let her arm fall to her side and turned away, her voice quiet now. ‘You’re all wrong. You’ve got it all wrong.’

  ‘Chloe, please,’ Rosa said.

  But her daughter walked purposefully to the door, still clutching the shirts, and without turning back, went up the steps and into the house.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  ‘Chloe!’ Rosa called after her, then ran out the door. Moments later, they heard her footsteps thunder up the stairs.

  When the sounds had died away, Hannah sighed. ‘Jesus, what a fucking mess. I don’t know what to think.’ She looked over at the little bedroom. ‘Why would he do this? And why would he kill himself? None of it makes sense.’

  Lucy shook her head, her face pale. ‘I don’t know and I don’t care; I just want to leave. We should go back upstairs, let the police sort this out.’

  As they walked out of the cellar, Hannah suddenly stopped. Instead of carrying on to the steps, she stood listening, wondering why she hadn’t heard it before. A humming noise seemed to be whirring somewhere nearby.

  Lucy paused at the bottom of the steps. ‘What is it?’

  ‘That sound, can you hear it? Listen.’

  It was a machine-like sound, something working steadily. ‘That could be the generator. We should still try to find it if we can.’

  Hannah switched on her torch and walked towards the sound. It seemed to be coming from the L-shaped alcove at the back of the cellar.

  Lucy paused for a moment, and then came after her. Hannah thought about what they could do with electricity in the rest of the house, maybe they could get hold of the guards. Maybe Rosa and Chloe could begin to make some sense of their family tragedy.

  As she stepped into the alcove and flicked the beam of her torch over the piles of junk, she wondered how long had passed since Mo left the house. How long he had spent out there in the storm. Whether he was still lying out there somewhere, being picked apart by foxes and birds.

  A cold hand gripped her from behind, so suddenly she let out a yell. Lucy’s fingers bit into her arm, twisting her round to face her.

  ‘Listen,’ Lucy said, her face close in the gloom. Hannah’s torch dropped to the ground.

  ‘You’re hiding something,’ Lucy hissed. ‘I know it. You were so keen to come down here, to lead everyone else down here too. You knew it was here, didn’t you?’

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’ Hannah shrugged herself free.

  ‘Liam, of course.’ Her head moved closer until one bright blue eye filled Hannah’s vision. ‘Liam and all that convenient evidence against him.’

  Hannah could smell Lucy’s sour breath. ‘Why would I plant evidence against Liam? I didn’t even know him.’

  Lucy’s mouth twisted in a smile. ‘You told me you didn’t know this house, but that was just another fucking lie. You’re his daughter. That man, Jack Roper – his fucking daughter.’ She almost spat. ‘What a coincidence.’

  Hannah stepped backwards and bumped into the wall. The beam from her fallen torch bounced off the wall and cast Lucy’s face in shadow. Hannah tried to speak, but her throat felt dry.

  ‘It is a coincidence,’ she said at last. ‘It isn’t me, Lucy, I’m telling you. I’d never fucking heard of this house before I saw it online, and I didn’t even know my father.’

  Lucy started pacing back and forth. ‘After you got the letter and found out he was dead, you didn’t come over here? Didn’t go to the funeral?’

  ‘No. My mother didn’t tell me about the letter until it was too late. I never met Declan, or had contact with him. I’m telling you: I’d never met any of the guests. This has nothing to do with me.’

  Her words seemed to have some effect at least, because Lucy stayed quiet for a moment, her shoulders hunched. ‘What can you remember about your father?’ She spoke quietly now.

  Hannah blinked, tried to control her thoughts. Tried not to think about it. ‘Hardly anything,’ she said weakly.

  Lucy turned to stare at her and the only sound was the drip, drip, drip of the tap in the corner of the room.

  ‘His aftershave,’ Hannah said suddenly, before she could stop herself. ‘I remember that. And I can’t get it out my head. It’s fucking everywhere, on his old clothes, on the carpets and armchairs. That was the bottle I found in that room, too.’ She pointed behind the shelves. ‘So maybe it was Liam’s after all.’

  ‘No,’ Lucy said. ‘Liam didn’t wear it, we would have noticed. But I’ve smelt it too. It’s all over the house, in my room, in my bed.’ She shivered and looked up at the dark ceiling above them, at the grimy pipes running along the ceiling. ‘Your father.’ She stared at Hannah. ‘Did you love him?’ Hannah remembered her asking this once before.

  ‘I … I think so. At least … I’ve always told myself I did.’

  ‘And he loved you?’ Lucy’s voice was barely a whisper, but so intense it sent a shiver through Hannah.

  She felt confused and could only say, ‘I don’t know. I thought so, but I was very young.’

  A long pause and Hannah waited, not daring to move or speak. She told herself she had nothing to fear from Lucy, the killer had been Liam and now he was dead. Lucy was just in shock after everything that had happened. But Hannah couldn’t stop herself from inching away towards the bottom of the stairs. Towards the others. She no longer cared about the humming, wasn’t even sure it was a real sound.

  ‘I’m going back up,’ she said gently. ‘I can’t stand being down here any more. We can talk properly in the light by the fire.’

  Lucy gave her a tiny smile that did nothing to calm the thump of her heart. ‘OK,’ she said.

  Picking up the torch, Hannah hurried ahead without waiting for Lucy, up the steps, through the immaculate white-walled room, along the green corridor and out into the hall. She felt a wave of relief to be back in the main house. Away from the cellar, away from that constant dripping and the stink of chemicals. Away from what was left of Liam, away from Lucy.

  The hall was still shrouded in darkness, the sound of thunder much louder now, booming right on top of the house. She walked into the empty drawing room, went to stoke up the fire that was now just a few smouldering embers. This was the only warm room in the house, so where had Rosa and Chloe gone?

  She looked out into the hallway calling again. ‘Rosa!’ Her voice echoed back at her. ‘Chloe!’ The only sounds were the wind and the rain. She clenched her hands to stop them shaking. And had to sit on the sofa to still her trembling legs.

  Lucy had been acting so strangely. She had seemed so distant ever since they entered that other section of the house, so desperate to keep them out of those rooms. Hannah thought back and realized it had always been Lucy who had objected, who had steered them away from the padlocked area with subtle hints or suggestions. Then, when Hannah had refused to listen to her, Lucy had made sure she was there beside her every step of the way, as if she had something to hide. Hannah shivered and another crack of lightning lit up the sky.

  She imagined Lucy all alone, wandering around in those cold empty rooms in the cellar, listening to the drip of the tap. Or she could have slipped quietly past the drawing room and gone upstairs to find Rosa and Chloe. Gone to talk them round, whisper lies about Hannah until they thought she was the killer. They could be sitting up there now, muttering about Hannah the lunatic, the girl who thinks she’s a Lady. Whispering just like the girls did at school, just like all those people on social media. Hannah shook her head, she needed to get a grip.

  She heard a sound and stood up, her heart racing.

  A bang, and then another. A creak and then a huge crash that seemed to shake the walls of the house.

  For a moment she thought it must be Lucy, back by the monitors, turning on the recordings again.

  But the sound was coming from just out
side the drawing room, in the hallway: someone was banging on the front door.

  It must be Mo, or the police, they’d finally arrived. She was going to be all right, they were all going to be OK.

  ‘Mo! Mo, in here!’ she shouted as she ran out into the hall.

  But then she stopped, dead still. No – there was no one here – the bangs were made by the door itself, crashing open and closed in the wind.

  Someone had run outside and left it ajar.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chloe, it could have been Chloe. Maybe Rosa had followed her out there, maybe Lucy had gone after her too. All three of them could be outside right now, hiding in a ditch somewhere. But who – or what – were they hiding from?

  She stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind her. Stood in the doorway and stared out into the night, strained to see along the gravel driveway to the slopes beyond. Twigs and bits of leaf and grass, even small stones, whipped past the building in the wind. No one could get far in this.

  She pulled her collar close and made her way along the side of the house to look through the French windows into the drawing room. With the curtains open and the fire blazing, the room was lit up like a beacon; people could see it from miles around. It made her shiver to imagine them all sitting in there by the fire, oblivious as someone peered in from outside. A flash of forked lightning lit up the hillside and she saw rows of twisted trees, bent double by the wind.

  ‘Chloe!’ she shouted. ‘Rosa!’

  There was no answer. And as she walked around the house, shivering in the cold, she thought again about Mo out here on his own. He would never have made it to the village.

  The wind tore her words away as she called for Chloe. It stung her cheeks and filled her eyes with tears. She clung to the wall as thunder boomed and lightning flashed, getting closer.

  After she passed the back door, she saw something she hadn’t noticed before: a flight of steps with a door at the bottom. It must be another way into the cellar. She went down, grateful to be out of the wind, and rattled the handle. But it was locked and there was no sign that anyone had been here. She stood for a moment, savouring the calm and quiet. Then climbed up and carried on towards the outhouse.

  As the old building loomed into view, another peal of thunder rolled across the hills and the air crackled. A flash of lightning split the sky, illuminating the outhouse, and beside it a shadow standing in the rain. The figure seemed to be trying to get through the door.

  Then the night descended into darkness again. She ran towards the building, shouting. ‘Rosa, Chloe! It’s me, Hannah.’

  But as she got closer, she realized that the figure had looked tall, too tall to be Rosa or Chloe. It could have been Lucy, or maybe Mo, or a policeman. She ran faster, hoping to see Mo, hoping to see his smile. But when she reached the building, the figure was nowhere to be seen. She shone her torch around her, held her hand up to shield her eyes from the rain.

  She was sure someone had tried to open the outhouse door. Her hands numb from the cold, she tried the handle, but it was locked. The beam of her torch played along the grass around her, flickering against the trunks of trees, but she could see no one. The weight of the torch in her hand felt comforting as she walked back to the house, heavy enough to do some damage if it came to it.

  She couldn’t stop replaying the moment in her mind. The flash of lightning, the tall shadow struggling with the door of the outhouse. Shrouded in dark clothes. Something about it seemed familiar, but her jumbled mind wouldn’t focus.

  Back in the hallway she slammed the door and shot the bolts.

  ‘Lucy! Hello, Rosa?’ Her voice echoed in the empty hallway.

  She went to the stairs and called up again but was met with only silence. Something told her not to go upstairs, not to walk up there on her own. But she took a deep breath, held out the torch and began to walk towards the first floor.

  ‘Rosa! It’s me, Hannah. I’m coming up.’ Her torch beam flicked across the family room, its door firmly shut. ‘Lucy … Chloe … Where are you?’

  She felt alone, horribly alone, as the sound of her voice died in the silent corridors. Her legs heavy, as if her body knew what she would find at the top of the stairs, as if it was trying to stop her, trying to protect her. Her palms sticky against the torch, her heart thumping in her ears. She wouldn’t go in there yet, she couldn’t, she would check the other rooms first.

  She shone her torch along the corridor towards Sandeep’s room. Mo’s door was half-open, just as he’d left it, and inside was empty. She checked his bathroom, stared at his clothes lying on the floor, wondered whether he would ever wear them again.

  Closing the door behind her, she walked to Sandeep’s room and made herself glance inside. The bright torchlight picked out his body and seemed to make his face glow. His half-open eyes glinted with what looked to Hannah like suspicion, or maybe even reproach. Had she done this to him? Was this her fault?

  A creak on the stairs made her spin round, torch raised.

  ‘Hello? Who’s there?’ she shouted. The torch shook in her hand as she pointed the beam along the corridor towards the stairs again. Step by step, she walked silently back and raked the beam of light from her torch up and down the staircase. Nothing, just dancing shadows. But then, at the top, she noticed the door to the family room. It was open.

  Someone had been inside that room in the last few minutes, while she was checking the corridor.

  She pushed open the door to look inside.

  It seemed empty, but in front of the half-open bathroom door lay a crumpled shirt. One of Liam’s from the cellar, she thought. And on the double bed was another. The duvet lay twisted and crumpled on the floor, broken glass strewn across the room, bloody handprints smeared across the wall.

  Hannah felt everything begin to spin, her knees turning liquid. She stepped towards the bathroom with her torch held high.

  Its beam reached through a crack in the door and played across the linoleum floor, reflecting off a pool of blood. Someone else was dead.

  She pushed the door, but it didn’t move.

  Someone – or something – was behind it.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The room roared with sound as she kicked at the bathroom door, flinging herself hard against it, convinced the killer was waiting for her on the other side. But the door hit something too soft to be human. There was no one there.

  And when she stepped in and pointed her torch down behind the door, all she found was a pile of towels.

  She stood for a moment, making her whole body still, listening for any sounds in the house around her, eyes fixed on that pool of blood. The torch felt slippery in her hands, so she wiped the handle on her jeans and tightened her grip.

  There was something lying on one of the towels. A scalpel, just like the one they had found beside Liam’s body, bleeding scarlet onto the white fabric.

  She moved the beam of light from the towels along the floor to the pool of blood. And followed the trail of red up the side of the bath, to the shower curtain that had been pulled completely across. She knew what had to lie behind it. Please God, please God.

  With a gasp of breath, she slid back the curtain.

  Rosa.

  Her body limp and pale, empty of life. More like a crumpled heap of clothes than a woman. One leg bent at the knee, the other stretched on the edge of the bath, as if she was trying to climb out. Dead eyes staring.

  Her neck was slit, just as her husband’s had been, her clothes soaked with blood. The tiles around the bath splashed with vivid red.

  Hannah staggered against the wall, pulled herself away from the body, through the bedroom and on to the landing again. She was numb, unable to feel anything more. As if this was one of her awful nightmares and she was about to wake up.

  She stumbled downstairs and into the drawing room, her mind refusing to come to terms with what she had seen, refusing to think about what might have happened to Chloe. She crouched beside the hearth a
nd threw a few logs on the fire, huddled close to the flames, shivered with cold.

  Sitting on the sofa, she tried to piece together the events of the evening, tried to make herself feel human again. Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, she forced herself to think logically, to narrow down the list of possible suspects.

  Chloe had been so angry with her mother, had been behaving so strangely and sleepwalking at night. Could she have murdered Rosa in a fit of rage? Or even done it in her sleep? No, it wasn’t possible, Hannah just wouldn’t believe it. Chloe was a child, what possible reason could she have for killing Sandeep or Rob?

  She shook her head, couldn’t let this house twist her thoughts and turn her against people she had grown to trust. But she had to face facts and Liam couldn’t have done it all. She had wanted to believe his death was suicide, that he had been the killer, but she knew that wasn’t true.

  Someone else had done it, someone who had been in the house the whole time.

  And there was only one person left. The person Hannah had never really been able to understand. The one who had shown them all two entirely different sides to her personality.

  Lucy.

  It had to be her, there was no one else. It could have been her out there in the storm by the outhouse, wrestling with the door. She could have been the person creaking down the stairs as she fled the scene of Rosa’s murder. Hannah stood up and walked back to the hearth and threw another log on the fire, crouched closer to the flames to warm her numb fingers. Lightning flashed across the sky, and Hannah stared through the windows. Should she go back out there to search for Chloe?

  No. There was no way she would find her now, especially if Chloe didn’t want to be found. She would just have to hope she was somewhere safe, that she wasn’t lying dead out there too. Lying dead somewhere close to Mo. Killed by the storm, the night, by the sucking bog. Or by whatever monster was stalking them.

  There was only one part of the house where she might find Chloe, one place she might be hiding. Pushing her hair behind her ears, she stood up and grabbed her torch, searched around for a weapon. Where was the hammer that had been in her pocket? She looked at the clumsy poker on the floor by the fire, but decided it would be too heavy.