Tanya felt an unexpected lump come to her throat.

'The thing is,' said Fabian, 'I was always convinced of his innocence. But after today, I I don't know what to believe any more.'

Tanya stared at him in horror.

'You can't be serious? You think . . . you think he did it? That he killed her?'

'I don't know what to think,' said Fabian. 'Ever since I saw that photograph all sorts of things have been going through my mind.'

'What things?'

Fabian bit his lip. 'Horrible things. Do you . . . do you believe in . . . ghosts?'

'You think the girl in the woods was a ghost?'

'All I do know is, the girl in the woods was the same girl in the photograph which doesn't make sense. If Morwenna Bloom was alive she would be in her mid-sixties by now.'

'Maybe it was just a girl who looked a lot like her,' Tanya suggested, not wanting to accept Fabian's explanation.

Even though he was clearly worried Fabian still managed to give Tanya the scornful look that always made her feel about five years old.

'She would have to be her twin to look that much like her. Which still wouldn't make sense.' His brow furrowed. 'For argument's sake, let's say she was a ghost.'

'All right,' said Tanya, reluctantly.

'She was taking us somewhere. Maybe she was trying to show us something?'

'She said she was helping us to find Oberon.'

'She can't have been,' said Fabian. 'He was already with Warwick.'

'Then it must have been another dog she was mistaken . . .'

Fabian was not listening. 'Ghosts linger on earth because they have unfinished business, right? Morwenna Bloom went missing all those years ago and still n.o.body knows what happened to her. What if she did die in those woods? What if the girl we saw was Morwenna's ghost? Maybe she was trying to tell us what happened to her . . . or lead us to her . . . her . . . remains.'

'She didn't look like a ghost,' said Tanya. 'She looked as real as you and I. And anyway, why now? Why us?'

'I've been thinking about that too,' said Fabian in a small voice. 'And the only reason I can think of why she would show herself to us is because of the family link I'm Amos's grandson. Maybe the rumours were true. Maybe she's trying to tell us that he did kill her all those years ago. Maybe she can't move on until justice is done.'

Tanya went silent. In a horrible way, what Fabian was saying made sense. Plus she could think of nothing else to explain the mysterious girl. A shiver ran down her spine.

'What are we going to do?'

Fabian gritted his teeth. 'We'll have to go back into the woods. If she found us once she can find us again.'

Tanya paled. 'We can't. We'll get into so much trouble if we get caught you saw how angry your father was!'

'We won't get caught,' said Fabian. 'We'll plan it all first.'

'I really don't know about this . . .'

'Do you have a better idea?'

Tanya shook her head.

'I'm not going to rest until I find the truth,' said Fabian. 'We're going back into the forest the first chance we get. And this time we'll find out what really happened to her.'

11.

OONLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH the open curtains and spilled into the room, penetrating its darkness and washing it with silver. The night had grown warmer in the past couple of hours and the window was thrown wide open in an attempt to draw any kind of breeze in, but there was none. The scent of the roses in the courtyard below was heavy and sweet, drifting up from the gardens to sit sluggishly in the room.

Tanya lay on top of the bedclothes, in thin pyjamas that were turned inside out. They were sticking to her uncomfortably. She was wide awake, though this had less to do with the heat and more to do with what Fabian had told her earlier in the evening. In addition, Warwick had fixed the grandfather clock on the landing once more, for all night its mocking chimes had kept her awake whilst reminding her of how little sleep she was likely to get. The last set of chimes had marked two o'clock in the morning, and she knew that even if she got to sleep now it would only be about four hours before Amos woke her.

Her skin crawled at the thought of him, shuffling about on the floor above muttering to himself and goodness knew what else. It had been years since he'd had any real contact with the outside world. Horrible thoughts began to crowd her mind. What if Amos had been involved in Morwenna Bloom's disappearance? What if the old man upstairs was a murderer? And then another idea popped into her head. Maybe she and Fabian were not the only ones to have explored the servants' staircase recently. Maybe Amos had realised Tanya was visiting and had decided to take a little wander . . .

All of a sudden the moonlight was not enough. Tanya fought the urge to turn on the bedside lamp . . . and then did it anyway, berating herself for being so babyish but the light never came on. Cursing, and no longer bothered if anyone were to see the light under her door, she got up and crossed the room, snapping the main light switch on. Nothing.

The realisation hit her that this had happened before, more than once. Power cuts were all too common at the manor, and she knew from experience that it was usually hours rather than minutes before the electricity was reconnected. Her grandmother was usually well prepared, stashing a generous supply of candles in the rooms most often used, but Tanya already knew with a sinking feeling that in this room there were none. It wasn't used often enough and she had not seen any when she had unpacked her things and put them away.

She clenched her eyes shut and tried to think. There would be candles downstairs in the kitchen. Florence always kept a supply under the sink, along with a few spare boxes of matches. She would go down, grab a few, and then return to her room and read until she was sleepy. And she would remain in bed until she was good and ready to get up, whether her grandmother liked it or not and whether Amos shouted the place down. If it came to it she would say she was feeling unwell. That way she could get some rest and avoid them all: her grandmother, Warwick, and Fabian.

More able to focus now she had a plan, Tanya located her slippers and crept out of the room. In the silence of the sleeping house every noise she made seemed monumental. Every step, every creak of the floorboards beneath her made her cringe and pause.

In the kitchen, Oberon thumped his tail in greeting and rose from his blanket by the hearth. Tanya knelt and made a fuss of him, briefly comforted. He smelled of marrow bone and there were pieces of a chewed-up boot of Warwick's in his basket. She gave him an extra pat while making a mental note to dispose of the evidence, then began to search under the sink for the candles and matches. She gathered several and, after locating a bra.s.s candlestick shoved to the back of the cupboard, pushed a candle firmly into it and lit the wick. Instantly, the kitchen was lit with a golden glow. Tanya took a step towards to the door, ready to creep back upstairs but something made her pause. Frowning, she held the candle aloft.

On the worktop there were four pieces of bread, placed neatly in a square on the chopping board. Three of them had been b.u.t.tered. Next to them was a tub of spread, with a knife wedged halfway in at an angle. As Tanya took another step she saw a small parcel of tin foil, partially opened to reveal it was full of beef left over from dinner. A ripe tomato sat on the chopping board, waiting to be sliced. Tanya placed her hand on the foil containing the meat. It was cold, like it had not long been out of the fridge.

She took a sharp breath and scanned the kitchen. She had interrupted someone, that much was clear. And whoever it was wouldn't have had time to go far. But who would bother hiding over something as trivial as making a sandwich?

'Who's there?' she whispered. 'Fabian?'

A dark figure sprang from the alcove where the servants' staircase had been blocked off and darted from the kitchen. With no time to think through what she was about to do, Tanya followed. As she moved through the kitchen into the pitch-black hall the candle in her hand sent shadows scattering across the walls, the flame flickering wildly before going out. In the sudden darkness she paused, trying to get her bearings. Light footsteps padded slyly away from her. A nearby door opened, then closed softly. The library. Hardly daring to breathe, Tanya relit the candle and pushed the door open. By now she knew it wasn't Fabian and knew she should go and wake someone. She also knew there wasn't time. Warily, she stepped into the library, scanning the now empty bookshelves and the writing table near the window. The door closed behind her and there was a scratching of claws and a small whine from outside. Oberon had followed her. She ducked down, looking beneath the table, and jumped as a single yellow eye glared back at her. Spitfire. The cat hissed then curled itself into a ragged ginger ball. Tanya stepped back, surveying the room. It was empty and open. There was nowhere else to hide.

She set the candle down on a nearby bookshelf. Perhaps she had been mistaken. The intruder must have gone into one of the other rooms nearby. She knew she would have to go and wake her grandmother and Warwick but what if the intruder was out there, waiting for her? She stood, contemplating her next move.

Something gleamed in the flickering candlelight. She lifted the candle once more. On the edge of the bookshelf at eye level, the tiniest smear of something pale and shiny was lodged into the complex pattern in the woodwork. It was a moment before Tanya recognised what it was. b.u.t.ter.

Her fingers traced the engravings in the old, dark wood. In amidst ornately carved ivy there were several small circular panels. It was on one of these panels the b.u.t.ter had been smeared. Three small indents were part of a triangular shape within the pattern. Almost in a trance she lifted her hand and placed her thumb, forefinger and middle finger into the indentations, and instinctively turned her wrist clockwise.

Soundlessly, effortlessly, the circular panel began to turn with her hand. After rotating the panel a half turn to the right she withdrew her fingers and thumb, then replaced them so her wrist was straight and turned clockwise again. After another half turn the panel resisted slightly before clicking into place. Several seconds pa.s.sed before anything happened. Then slowly, the end part.i.tion of the bookcase began to revolve in the wall.

Tanya could hear her own blood rushing through her ears as her eyes struggled to comprehend what they were seeing. As the bookcase revolved further it revealed a narrow gap in the wall. The other side was completely black. She lifted the candle. Already, she knew this was not the servants' staircase. This was something else. A steep set of stone steps spiralled downwards. The air was cold, damp and mouldy. She leaned forward, trying to get a glimpse down the staircase. It looked positively treacherous.

Tanya took a few steps into the pa.s.sageway, nearing the staircase. Fabian had been right all along. Elvesden Manor was home to secrets that she had never imagined possible. There were hidden tunnels and clearly, the intruder that had been in the house knew about them and was using them. But why?

Too late she heard the soft sc.r.a.pe of the part.i.tion being pulled back into place by whatever mechanism controlled it. There was a dull click of finality, and then the tunnel was sealed like a tomb . . . with Tanya still inside.

Horrified, she began searching desperately by the candlelight for any kind of latch or lever on the inside. There was none. Stricken, she forced her fingernails into the tiny gap of the door. It was shut tight as she knew it would be, still st.u.r.dy and impenetrable; truly built to last. She guessed then that the tunnel was only designed to get out of the house and that there must be others for getting in. Her one candle continued to burn, her only source of light and comfort.

There was no way back. She was trapped.

She drew breath, ready to scream for her grandmother, for Warwick, for anyone. But sense flashed a warning into her mind. The person nearest who would hear her cries and reach her first would be the intruder. As it was, whoever had entered the tunnel probably had no idea that they had been followed through the secret entrance. Her only chance was to try and follow at a distance and find the way out.

There was no choice but to go on. Her heart was pumping wildly and her breath was now coming in short gasps that she fought to control. She had never been more terrified. She started down the steps, winding further and further beneath the house. As she did so, the temperature plummeted. Tanya could feel her skin, covered only in the thin cotton of her pyjamas, p.r.i.c.kle with gooseflesh. The candle began to judder in her hand.

The stairwell ended and opened out. She came to a halt and, with shock and dismay, counted four possible tunnels she could take. Each spiralled off in a different direction and appeared as terrifying as the next. Through thick green mould, small areas of grey stone were visible. Then, on the ground, Tanya spotted something: a large, flat pebble, trussed and knotted with dirty string that led off into one of the tunnels. Its purpose, she realised, was to mark the way in this underground labyrinth. She was then faced with her most difficult task yet. Knowing that her candle was burning low, and that its light would alert the intruder of her approach, she knelt and took hold of the cold, damp string that was tied to the pebble and allowed it to run through her fingers, leading the way. Bracing herself, she blew the candle out and began to move along in the pitch-black, following the only path she could in the hope it would lead her out. What was it Fabian had told her? The tunnels led out in a couple of places: somewhere in Tickey End a pub, and the little church nearby.

Let it be the church, she begged silently.

She walked for several long minutes, imagining in her mind's eye the tunnel becoming narrower, like the darkness was closing in. The musty dankness caught in her throat and crawled down her airways. Her own tremulous breathing was all she could hear. The darkness was swallowing her.

And then the air changed, became thinner and fresher and colder still. She sensed that the tunnel had opened out into something: some kind of underground room or perhaps a way out. She fumbled for the matches then jumped in terror as a distinctive click echoed in her ears. A strong light shone in her eyes, blinding her. Weakly, she lifted her hand to her eyes, realising her mistake too late.

'Nice of you to join us,' a voice hissed, horribly close.

The torch went out and light footsteps moved away from her. Then came the sound of a match being struck. Tanya blinked repeatedly as white lights danced in front of her eyes. From what little she could see at the edges of her vision it was apparent that she was in an underground cavern of sorts. Now lit by candlelight, the outline of a figure stood about ten feet away. She squeezed her eyes closed, willing the dazzled feeling to pa.s.s. Her vision was clearing. The figure by the wall shifted slightly, though the person's face remained hidden in the darkness.

'Who are you?' said Tanya. Her eyes darted around. In the furthest corner was an old-fashioned bed, heaped with blankets and a meagre pile of clothes. A dark coloured bag had been half emptied on it. A tiny wooden table and chair stood next the bed. Flickering on the table, the flame of a single candle was caught in some underground draught. The intruder stepped away from the wall towards her. As the shadows were chased away by the candlelight a face came into view.

The girl looked young, not much older than Tanya. She was tall and athletic, flat-chested and boyish in shape with a plain, unreadable expression. Even in the muted light Tanya could see the mane of red hair tumbling to her waist, wild and unkempt. It glowed through the darkness, brighter than the candles, as though it were flaming all by itself.

The girl took another step in her direction, silent and as sure-footed as a cat. She wore a simple, short dark dress and worn-but-st.u.r.dy hiking boots. Strapped to her slim, freckled thigh was a knife. Tanya met her gaze and knew with absolute certainty that, if she needed to, the girl would use it.

'Who are you?' Tanya asked again. 'And what were you doing in my grandmother's house?'

The girl simply stared at her with unblinking green eyes.

'I need some answers of my own. First, your name.'

'Who do you think you are?' Tanya whispered. 'That you can just-'

The girl had crossed the cavern and was upon her in one swift movement, her face inches from Tanya's, lips drawn back over her teeth in a snarl. Tanya was forced backwards against the cold cavern wall. All the calmness about the girl had gone. She looked feral, demented. Her breath was sour and rank, and her clothes reeked of sweat. She clearly hadn't washed for days.

'You've cost me a great deal tonight and lost time I can ill afford. Now we can do this the hard way, but I would advise against it. Or I can ask you once more, nicely. Your name.'

'Tanya.'

'Good. Now, Tanya. Did anyone else hear me tonight?'

Tanya hesitated. Something in the girl's unfaltering gaze told her it would be a mistake to lie. 'I don't think so.'

The girl relaxed and leaned back a couple of inches.

'How did you know about the secret pa.s.sages? Have you used them before?'

Tanya shook her head. 'No. I'd . . . I'd heard stories . . . but I never really believed they existed.'

'So how did you find this one?'

'I followed you. You left a smear of b.u.t.ter on the panel that triggers the mechanism. It was just a fluke . . .'

The girl gave a cold smile. 'So you followed and got trapped in the tunnel. Quite the little detective, aren't you? Who else knows about the pa.s.sages? You said this is your grandmother's house.'

Tanya felt her head start to spin as she was. .h.i.t by a wave of nausea. The girl's breath was making her feel ill.

'I don't know. My grandmother hasn't ever spoken to me about anything like this. Please, I just want to get out. Tell me how to get back into the house I won't say anything about you.'

The girl ignored her. 'How soon is your grandmother likely to notice you're missing?'

'When I don't show up for breakfast. About eight.'

The girl swore.

'What do you need?' Tanya began. 'If it's money you want, maybe I could-'

'Money?' The girl's tone was incredulous. 'I'm not here for money! You think I'm a thief?'

'You were taking food.'

'I only took what I needed. And not out of choice.'

'You're hiding here, aren't you?'

The girl's face twitched involuntarily.

'That's it, isn't it? You're using this place as a hideout.' Tanya stared around the cavern, trembling. 'And you're not alone.'

'What?'

Tanya met the girl's emerald gaze. 'Nice of you to join us. Us. That's what you said when I found you. There's someone else with you.'

Before she had even finished speaking, a terrible, bloodcurdling sound filled the cavern. Tanya froze as the noise grew louder. There was something horribly familiar about that sound . . . she had heard it before.

Something was moving on the bed beneath the pile of clothes. No. Within the clothes. Tanya's back was pressed against the cold stone wall as the red-haired girl moved soundlessly towards the bed and pulled the bundle into her arms. Tanya watched, transfixed, as a tiny hand reached out from the bundle and stretched towards the girl's face; a clenched little fist slowly unfurling as the noise continued.

'A baby? You're hiding down here with . . . with a baby?'

The girl did not answer. Tanya wondered if she'd even heard. Instead the girl sank down on the bed whispering to the child, who did not appear to be taking any comfort.

'Why is it crying like that?' Tanya asked, wincing at the terrible noise. The wails had now escalated into piercing shrieks that echoed through the cavern and filled her heart with dread.

'He's crying because he is sick,' the girl replied unexpectedly. 'He needs medicine. And I have none.'