‘Does it matter what we talk about?’

‘I mean, you’re a young girl. What would you have to talk about with a nun?’ She smiled, to hide her panic.

That was the point where I was going to talk about the castle, about the fire and the fact it had been lived in far more recently than I’d thought. I was going to ask Rosaleen the question about who died and where everybody was when I remembered the diary entry. I wish I hadn’t told her about what I’d learned about the castle. Was this what I shouldn’t have mentioned? Rosaleen was staring at me in the long time it took me to think of an answer. I took a forkful of minced meat, to give myself some more thinking time.

‘You know…we talked about a lot of different kinds of stuff…’

‘What kinds of things?’

‘Rosaleen,’ Arthur said quietly.

Her head snapped round to face him like a deer who’d heard a trigger pulled back in the distance.

‘Your dinner will get cold.’ He looked at her plate, which remained untouched.

‘Oh. Yes.’ She picked up her fork and stabbed a carrot, but didn’t lift it to her mouth. ‘Carry on, child. You were saying.’

‘Rosaleen,’ I sighed.

‘Let her eat her dinner,’ Arthur said quietly.

I looked to Arthur to thank him but he didn’t look up, just continued shovelling food in his mouth. There was an awkward silence as we ate, and the sounds of munching and cutlery scraping dishes took over the room.

‘Excuse me, please. I’m just going to the bathroom,’ I finally said, unable to bear it any more.

Only I stayed outside the door to listen.

‘What was that all about?’ Arthur barked.

‘Ssh, keep your voice down.’

‘I’ll not keep my voice down,’ he hissed back, but his voice was lowered.

‘Sister Ignatius called here this morning and said nothing of Tamara,’ she hissed back.

‘So?’

‘So she acted as if she knew nothing about her. If Tamara had met her, surely she’d have said. Sister Ignatius isn’t the kind to not say so. Why wouldn’t she?’

‘So what are you suggesting? That Tamara’s lying?’

My mouth dropped and I almost barged in there, except the next sentence from Rosaleen’s lips, spoken with such bitterness, stopped me.

‘Of course she’s lying. She’s just like her mother.’

There was a long silence. Arthur said nothing.

I lay in bed trying to block out Rosaleen’s words which were being repeated over and over in my mind. There was a history I knew nothing of, that was certain, but there was nothing I could do now to try and find out what that was and what she could have meant. Yesterday was a closed book, tomorrow, however, was another story. I reread the entry for tomorrow over and over again, feeling fired up. There was much to plan for. As I lay in bed running through all the things I should do in my limited time tomorrow, knowing that Rosaleen and Arthur wouldn’t be returning until one o’clock on the button, it did little to help me relax. It was a humid July night. It was either going to be a stormy night or tomorrow would be a scorcher. I opened my bedroom window, hoping for some air, and kicked off my covers. I lay in the blue light of the moon, watching the oily sky glisten with stars.

As I listened to the silence, I suddenly heard owls hoot, the occasional sheep and cow call for attention; the sounds of the country night that I’d grown used to drifted into my room. Now and then there was a welcome light breeze and each time I heard the leaves on the trees gently rustle, they too thankful for the cool air. Eventually I became a little chilly and reached to close the window when I realised the sounds that I’d thought were birds chirping were actually voices in the distance. In the country who knew how far such sounds could carry, but as I listened out for them again, I heard the distinct rise and fall of conversation and sudden laughter, perhaps music and then silence again as the breeze stopped carrying their noise. It was coming from the direction of the castle.

It was 11.30 p.m. I threw on a tracksuit and trainers, the floor creaking beneath my feet as I moved around as daintily as possible in my room. With each creak I froze, expecting the sleeping giant to awaken at any moment. I moved the chair away from the bedroom door and gently opened it. It would be a feat to get downstairs and out the front door without alerting the mistress of the house. I heard Rosaleen cough and I stalled, then immediately closed my door again. I’d never heard her cough at night before, I took it as a warning.

I climbed on the bed to avoid walking on the creaky floorboards and crawled along the mattress to reach the window. It was an old springy mattress and it made a noise but at least it sounded legitimately as though I was turning over. I took the torch from the bedside locker and pushed the window open further. Sizewise, I could fit through it without a problem. My bedroom was directly over the front porch. Though the roof was pointed, I could, with great concentration, land on it. From there it would be a relatively easy climb down the wooden fencing on the porch and straight to the ground. Easy.

Suddenly Rosaleen and Arthur’s bedroom door opened and there were quick footsteps down the corridor. I dived back into the bed and covered myself from head to toe with the duvet, making sure my tracksuit and trainers, and the torch, weren’t visible. I scrunched my eyes shut just as my bedroom door opened. The window was wide open and to my trained ear the voices from afar seemed so loud I was sure my intentions would be obvious.

My heart thudded loudly in my chest as the person was suddenly in my room. The floorboards creaked, one by one as the figure came closer to me. It was Rosaleen. I knew by the way she held her breath, by the scent. The creaking stopped, which meant she was standing still. Watching. Watching me.

I fought hard not to open my eyes. I tried to relax my lids, not allow my eyeballs to roll around too much. I tried to breathe normally, a little louder than usual to show my deep slumber. I felt a body hover over me and I almost jumped up to attack, but I heard the window close and realised she was leaning over me to reach it. I contemplated opening my eyes, catching her out, making a drama. But what could I gain from this?

‘Rosaleen.’ I heard a hiss from my bedroom door. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m just making sure she’s all right.’

‘Of course she’s okay. She’s not a baby any more. Come back to bed.’

I felt a hand on my cheek, then fingers gently pushed my hair back to behind my ear just like my mother used to do. Then I waited for the duvet to be pulled off me and for my midnight prowl costume to be revealed, but instead I felt her breath on my face, felt her lips brush against my forehead in a gentle kiss, and then she was gone. The door closed.

She’s not a baby any more.

After she left I waited until Arthur’s snores began again. Then I got out of bed, pushed the window open and didn’t think twice before climbing out and landing gently on the slate archway of the porch. It was only when I landed on the grass and looked up at the house, at my bedroom, at the closed-over window, that I understood the meaning behind my message to myself not to close the window.

Using the torch I made my way towards the castle, following the voices. I could see only a few feet ahead of me, the rest of the world had been swallowed up by the black hole of night. The trees seemed to hold even more secrets at nighttime, and in the darkness their ‘sssh’ sound to one another led me to believe there was more they weren’t telling me. As I got closer to the castle, I heard voices, I smelled smoke, heard music, heard the clink of glasses or bottles. I could see light coming from the entrance hall and the room with the intact windows to the right. The rest of the rooms to the left and to the back were black. I turned off the torch and made my way around the back of the castle, passing two rooms that I’m sure had a grand view of the lake behind and the hundreds of steps that led down to it. I reached the window room I’d climbed out of before, and I listened.