Hannah Emery - The Secrets of Castle Du Rêve - A thrilling saga of three women’s lives tangled together in a web of secrets

She took Mary’s hand, which was cool in hers, and they danced together, giggling as Mary’s feet tangled around Evelyn’s. The other children danced too, laughing as they bumped into one another. When they couldn’t dance any more for laughing, they collapsed on the floor of Evelyn’s bedroom, out of breath.

‘Are you all hungry?’ Evelyn asked, and as the children nodded, she pulled out from under her bed a tray of rich buttery food that she had sneaked out of the kitchen earlier on. They sat and ate cakes and biscuits, the smells of the party from downstairs floating up around them: a mixture of sweet perfumes and sugar and wine.

‘This is the best party I’ve ever been to,’ said Derek, a smear of cream on his lip.

‘Me too,’ said Mary.

Sid shrugged. ‘It’s okay. But we could make it even more exciting. Let’s play a game of dares.’

Derek sat up straighter. ‘Dares in a castle!’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘Yes, let’s!’

And so they played. Sid dared Derek to run downstairs and take a sip of somebody’s champagne. He was gone for a while, and when he came back, he hiccupped loudly. ‘Champagne’s horrible,’ he said.

Mary stood up. ‘I’ll do the same dare. I want to taste champagne.’ She darted from the room, but a few minutes later she was back, clutching her sides and laughing. ‘They saw me before I could get a sip! I told them I’d got lost and they showed me back up here.’

‘Well that’s the end of that,’ said Sid. ‘They’ll be looking out for us now. We need some new dares. Evelyn, it’s your turn. What shall we make her do?’ he asked the group.

‘Well, going downstairs is no good for Evelyn. She lives here, so there’s not much that’s daring about that,’ Sid said, frowning with the effort needed to think of a good dare.

‘What about if you go somewhere in the castle you’re not allowed to go?’ Derek said. ‘That would be a proper dare.’

‘I could go in my parents’ room. I’m not really allowed in there.’

‘Yes!’ Sid shouted, his eyes wide with the excitement of the game. ‘Do that and bring something for us to see from their room. Something we won’t have seen before.’

Evelyn stumbled to her feet and thought for a minute. Then she grinned.

‘Wait here.’

She knew exactly where the mirror was. She remembered the first time she’d ever seen it, when her mother was looking into it and didn’t know Evelyn was there. It was the most beautiful thing Evelyn had ever seen, covered in what looked like shimmering blue diamonds.

‘Can I have a look?’ she’d asked. Her mother had spun around.

‘Evelyn! I didn’t know you were in here. You can look. But do not touch. This mirror has been in my family for generations. It’s very valuable.’

Evelyn had stared down into the glass, her round face and golden hair framed by the sparkling stones.

‘Don’t ever touch it,’ her mother had said, sliding the mirror into her dressing table drawer and closing it firmly. ‘Promise me, Evelyn?’

‘Yes,’ Evelyn had said, with her fingers crossed behind her back.

Now, Evelyn raced to her parents’ room, her heart thumping in time with the music that floated up from the party. She glanced around to check that nobody could see her before she flung the drawer open and took out the mirror. Holding it took her breath away: it was heavy and sharp, the stones pricking her skin as she clutched it and ran back to her own bedroom.

‘I’ve got this,’ she announced breathlessly as she returned to the other children. ‘My mother told me that I wasn’t allowed to have it, or even touch it.’ Her face burned: she was thrilled and frightened all at once. Her heart thumped and thumped in her chest as Mary gasped over the mirror and Sid fingered the glass. But there was no need to be scared, Evelyn reminded herself.

It was just a mirror, and she would put it back soon.

Nobody would ever know.

My Queen,

It’s fortunate that I know where you live, because if I couldn’t write to you, I would most probably expire: a brutal, red death. I only hope that these letters will be passed onto you, and that you will write back to me and tell me where you are. I have visited Lace Antiques seven times this week. I have had to buy a painting of a rather ugly dog and a chipped crystal vase to keep your father happy. I wanted neither. I only want you.

Please, tell me my dear. Where have you gone?

H

Seconds pass, and Tom still doesn’t speak. Isobel stands in the doorway to his lounge, staring at the television, where cars tear around a black track that’s glossy with rain. The whirring of the engines makes her want to scream. She sees the remote on the arm of the sofa, seizes it, mutes the cars and then tosses it back down. But then there is silence, which is somehow even worse. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to take a steady breath, but panic still roars inside her.

‘Tom,’ she says, her eyes still closed. As she speaks, she feels his arms closing around her. She clutches onto him.

‘When?’ he asks eventually.

She hasn’t even thought about this. She counts now, losing track once and having to start again. Isobel doesn’t understand her body like other women seem to. She can’t say for definite when she missed a period because they come and go with no warning. ‘June, I think.’ Her thoughts flit against each other and tears spill out again, her head throbbing. ‘Yes, end of June. It’s too soon. We can’t do it. You don’t have to-’. She opens her eyes, sees Tom through her tears: his ashen shock, his wide eyes.

‘I should go,’ she says next, turning from him so abruptly that the room spins. ‘I’ll leave you to it for a bit. You don’t need me here, in a mess like this.’

‘Isobel.’ Tom’s voice is sharp but kind, his grip on her arm firm but gentle. ‘Come on. Sit down.’ He goes to the tiny kitchen and roots around in the fridge, taking out a can of Coke and handing it to her. ‘Here.’

She’s sitting on the couch when he comes and sits so close to her that it almost feels like they are one person. He watches her swig from the icy can, waits for her to swallow and take a few deep breaths so that she can listen to what he has to say.

‘This is our issue. We’ll be shocked together, and we’ll sort it out together. You’re going nowhere.’

It’s as if Tom has clicked a switch inside Isobel. She takes a wobbly breath and another gulp of her drink. Her trembling hands begin to still and her banging heart quietens.

‘I’m stunned,’ Tom continues, his hand resting on her knee, his other hand rubbing his face. ‘But I love you, Isobel. And I want us to really think about this. I want us to think about whether it’s something we can do. For what it’s worth, I think it probably is.’

Isobel stares at him. ‘You do?’

His eyes fix on something that Isobel can’t see. They are soft green, crinkled slightly around the edges by life. His lashes are thick, dark and straight. ‘Yes. I really do.’

She thinks for a minute. June. Next summer, a pram, a tiny little pink person. Tom, holding the baby, shushing it and rocking it gently. ‘Maybe,’ she says, the word making her lighter somehow. Anxiety still claws at her and shock ripples through her body. But the raw terror has cleared. She leans her head against Tom’s shoulder, inhaling his warm scent of mint, herbs, an earthy aftershave she doesn’t know the name of. He turns and kisses her gently, and for a split second she feels as though there’s nothing wrong at all.

‘I don’t know how it’ll work,’ she says as she nestles back into Tom and puts her feet up beside her. ‘But I trust you.’ She takes the remote from where she threw it down on the sofa just after she arrived and turns the TV back on. The racing has stopped. The winner is being interviewed, beaming through his helmet.