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I’d worry about guilt after I was free.

The wards carried another pulse through the floor. It was stronger now, close enough that I could make out a human heartbeat inside the movement of the house. Quick, steady and very much alive.

Bryony Ellison had reached the end of the drive.

4

BRYONY

The drive curved around a stand of trees, and Harrowmere came into view.

I slowed without deciding to. The house was larger than I remembered, although my childhood memory had kept only the iron gate, a wide staircase and Edith closing curtains before sunset.

Grey stone stretched across three main sections, with tall windows, steep roofs and enough chimneys to keep several sweeps employed. The building looked old without looking neglected. Recent rain had darkened the walls, but the gutters were clear and the lawns had been cut into neat lines.

More concerning, Harrowmere looked occupied. Every legal record insisted it was empty, yet lamps glowed behind several ground-floor windows.

I stopped the car where the drive widened near the front steps and kept the engine running.

For years, I’d treated Harrowmere as one of the strange places adults mentioned around children and then refused to explain. Edith had told me it was sold. Seeing it unchanged made it clear how much work she had put into the lie.

My cream jumper, black trousers and boots were sensible clothes for checking an empty property. They offered less protection against a building that appeared to have prepared for my arrival.

The house stood at the end of a long gravel drive, all grey stone, tall windows and enough roof to bankrupt anyone who discovered a leak. Recent rain had darkened the walls. The lawns were clipped, the gutters were clear and several lamps glowed behind the ground-floor windows.

Vacant houses didn’t usually prepare for guests.

I stopped the car near the front steps with its nose pointing towards the drive. My phone still had a signal, so I shared my live location with Arthur and sent him a photograph of the house before getting out. I’d promised to contact him before I entered and again when I left.

The old key shifted inside my handbag.

I stopped with one foot on the gravel.

Nothing else moved. The wind barely disturbed the trees, and no vehicles sat near the house. I opened my bag and found the key lying across Edith’s letter. It was warmer than it had been in Arthur’s office.

“That isn’t reassuring,” I told it.

The key stayed still.

I took the modern keys and left the old one in my bag. The alarm panel beside the front door accepted the temporary code Arthur had arranged. One of Edith’s keys turned in the lock without resistance.

Warm air met me when I opened the door.

The entrance hall smelled of stone, furniture polish and a fire that had gone out recently. Light from a high window fell across bare floorboards. A narrow table stood against one wall with a vase of red roses on it.

I touched one of the petals. It was cool, firm and completely free of dust.

Everything around it was just as clean.

“Hello?” I called. “Bryony Ellison. I have permission to be here.”

My voice travelled into the house. No one answered.

The radiator warmed the back of my hand when I passed it. Lamps glowed in the drawing room and along the main corridor, although I hadn’t touched a switch. They could have been on timers. The heating could have been set low to protect the building. The roses required a person.

I kept the front door unlocked.

Edith’s directions led to the former estate office at the rear of the ground floor. I passed another drawing room with covered furniture and a dining room large enough to seat people I would never willingly invite to dinner. The rooms were clean, silent and far too ready for a house nobody used.