‘For a moment, I thought that was Jasmine,’ Miranda said.
We didn’t hang around. We headed straight to the stairs that led up from the cellar and soon found ourselves within a hallway, off which led numerous doors. A sweeping staircase curved upwards. It was cold here, thanks to the broken windows, and more rubbish lay strewn around. There were spaces on the walls where portraits must have once hung. Hunting trophies.
‘Jasmine?’ I called again. ‘You’re safe now. If you can hear us, let us know.’
Silence.
‘She’s not here,’ Holly said.
‘Let’s look around. Please.’
‘All right, let’s split up. I’ll check down here. I’ll start with what would have been the servants’ quarters back there, and you can go upstairs.’
‘What about me?’ Miranda asked.
‘Why don’t you go with Patrick?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I think I’ll stick with you.’
This was madly frustrating. Miranda was sticking to Holly like a limpet.
They headed through a doorway, and I went up a stairwell. The stairs creaked as I climbed them. I stuck my head into the first room I came to. Empty. My hopes of finding Jasmine had sunk. If she was here, I thought, she must be unconscious or dead. I really wasn’t sure I could cope with seeing a third body today. On top of that, my chances of finding someone who could vouch that I hadn’t killed Lewis were fading away. I felt sick. I had no plan B. And wasn’t this place meant to be full of adders? Wasn’t that one of the reasons it had been sohard to develop? A shudder went through my entire body as I pictured the floorboards falling away to reveal a vast pit of writhing snakes.
I managed to get hold of myself but steered clear of any floorboards that looked rotten. The next room along was a bathroom, with a filthy, stained bathtub and a smashed mirror that had fallen into the sink. An indescribable smell emanated from the toilet, as if the plumbing reached down into Hell. From below me, I heard Holly and Miranda walking around, their footsteps echoing.
‘Have you found anything?’ Holly called up.
‘Not yet.’
‘Me neither. I’m just going to check the library.’
I carried on going from room to room, phone in hand, flashlight shining, checking the bedrooms and bathrooms. They were all empty and seemed like they hadn’t seen life for years. No dreams had been dreamt in these bedrooms for a very long time. No sleep, no sex. Some of the rooms had been visited by spray-paint-wielding teens, though I didn’t see any more messages about Charles, just taggers’ names and a lot of crude cocks and balls. Other rooms had nasty patches of damp and mould. There was a hole in the ceiling of the master bedroom which exposed the attic, and another hole further up, in the roof. I could hear pigeons cooing and flapping in the rafters above me and wondered if the local birds of prey used this place as a buffet.
I left the final bedroom, sighing with disappointment. I had been certain we’d find something here– if not Jasmine herself, at least some sign that she’d been here. I had no idea what to do next. Weariness swept over me, the day’s events finally catching up with me, and I swayed on the spot, closing my eyes for a second.
When I opened them, I almost jumped out of my skin.
‘Jesus!’
It was Holly, standing in the doorway. ‘We found something.’
She headed towards the stairs, moving fast, and I hurried to keep up with her, along the downstairs hallway, the light from our phones playing off the walls, past sitting rooms and more signs of decay and neglect, into what had once been a library.
It was clear this room had been magnificent once. A vast space filled with bookshelves, some of which still contained volumes of old books, their spines peeling and mouldy. There was an area in one corner that must have once been a reading nook, a reclining chair still in situ. The room stank of pigeon shit, and several birds hopped about on top of the bookcases above our heads, cooing.
‘It’s round here,’ Holly said, leading me behind the stacks on the far side of the room.
There, hidden behind the empty bookcase, was a double mattress on the floor, with a pillow and sleeping bag. Miranda stood beside it, covering her nose with a gloved hand.
‘It could be nothing,’ I said. ‘A homeless person kipping here.’
‘I know. Except, look…’
She shone her phone’s flashlight towards the bookcase, and something glinted.
‘What is it?’
‘Take a look.’
