She remembered what Claire had said about Adam. She smiled to herself, wondering if Adam knew what Meredith’s girls had thought of him.

Then something occurred to her that made her freeze.

Jesus, she thought. If she were right, this would change everything.

She hurried over to a pile of papers, and leafed rapidly through them until she found those strange notes. She searched for the only one that was signed. She had read it as Jonny. But that o could easily be an e. In fact it was an e, the more she looked at it.

If you go, I will die.

I love you.

Don’t leave me.

Don’t make me hate you forever.

I can’t bear the thought of being apart from you. Please don’t go. We can work this out, whatever our parents say. I love you.

Jenny

Grace sat staring at the notes in front of her, then reached out and topped up her wine glass without even thinking about it.

These letters were obviously written by a girl who was hopelessly in love. The one that she had signed bothered Grace the most. ‘… whatever our parents say …’ implied that Adam had reciprocated, didn’t it? She remembered Claire saying that Jenny had just turned thirty – so there were only a couple of years between her and Adam. She would have been sweet sixteen when Adam had moved into the village.

If the two of them had had a secret romance, and their parents had conspired to separate them, Meredith might not be best pleased to see Adam back. But that was fourteen years ago. Surely this couldn’t have any bearing on Adam’s disappearance, could it?

Moreover, surely Adam wouldn’t have brought Grace and Millie to live here if he had any notion that there was a big problem lurking in these backwaters. No, whatever the notes indicated, it had to be firmly in the past as far as Adam was concerned. After all, Grace had never heard him talk about the Blakeneys before. He obviously hadn’t kept in touch with any of the girls after he moved away. They couldn’t have been that important to him in the long run.

Unless … What if Adam had been searching for Jenny in the library, and Jonny was a cover story he’d given to Liza? Perhaps he had really wanted to find Jenny again? But then why not ask Liza where Jenny was? Maybe Liza had left that part out? Perhaps they were all in it together, determined to throw Grace off the scent?

Off the scent of what, though? Grace felt increasingly confused. She was going around in circles, with no idea whether she was getting any closer to the truth. Frustrated, she took another slug of wine.

Where did this new information leave her search for Adam’s father? She’d never thought about it before, but she only really had Liza’s word that Jonny was relevant anyway. She tried to think back. She could still picture Liza’s face on the steps of Freeborough Hall. She had seemed so earnest. Why would she lie?

She would lie if Jenny asked her to. She would lie if Adam’s disappearance involved her sister. Perhaps they all would. Had Grace experienced any genuine friendliness or hospitality from them since she’d been here, or was it all an elaborate subterfuge to get her to leave? Perhaps Ben was involved too – passing information along from inside Hawthorn Cottage, keeping them posted on what she was up to.

As her theories grew more and more elaborate, Grace felt as though she was losing her grip on reality. She looked at her half-full glass and went across and poured it down the sink. Then she took herself upstairs to bed.

As her foot touched the top step, the clock began to chime three.

And then it stopped.

She couldn’t even summon the energy to be frightened. In fact, she felt fury coursing through her instead – at everything and everyone who had led her to this point.

She flung open her bedroom door, and halted. Finally, fear got sharp teeth into her, and instantly clamped down.

On her pillow was Ghosts of the Moors. Connie’s book. Grace knew, without a doubt, that she had packed it ready to leave, but now it lay spread open, face down, as though she had paused in reading it.

She picked it up. It was open at a page she recognised.

The black barghest.

A fearsome hound with razor-sharp teeth and claws. Seen shortly before the death of a local.

She flung it across the room. Then she took her duvet, went through and lay down on the floor next to Millie’s cot, trembling, her mind tumbling over and over, not daring to close her eyes even though she wanted to, her ears straining for any hint of movement close by.

As light began to spread over the moors, Grace crept around the cottage, hurriedly packing suitcases, putting items in the last of the boxes they would take with them, and stacking the ones for the charity sale together.

Today, they were leaving.

Much of the organising was done, but the kitchen was still full of odds and ends. She walked past the now ticking grandfather clock and headed into the lounge. There, she paused, looking at the hole where the kitchen wall had been. The ceiling was a mess too, and the floor needed finishing. She would ask Ben to sort it out after she’d gone. The rest of the renovations could be done by somebody else. She didn’t care any more.

She pictured herself storming up to the schoolhouse, getting everyone out of bed and demanding answers. Someone had put that book on her pillow last night, she was sure of it. Claire had been the last person in the cottage with her, but she couldn’t remember Claire having the opportunity to go upstairs without Grace noticing. Besides, if Meredith had a copy of the key to the cottage, any of them could have done it.

Unless the cottage had its own ghost? Stopping the clock and moving things around, just like Timmy. Perhaps Timmy had come back with them last night; perhaps Millie really had seen him?

Grace shook herself out of that daydream. She would begin to fall apart if she believed that. She couldn’t afford to consider it.

Before Millie woke up, she called Annabel.

‘Grace,’ came her sister’s tired voice. ‘Why are you calling so early? I’ve only just got to sleep! How was New Year?’

‘Rubbish,’ Grace said. ‘How was yours?’

‘It was fine,’ Annabel replied. ‘But it would have been better with you. I feel horrible for leaving you. I’m sorry. Mum and Dad are really cross with me. How are you getting on?’

‘You don’t have to apologise,’ Grace said, hearing her voice crack slightly. ‘You’ve done so much for me in the last twelve months. But, listen, I’m thinking about taking a breather. We might come down to London – can we stay with you?’

‘Oh Grace,’ there was no mistaking the delight in Annabel’s voice, ‘that’s great. Of course you can. You’re doing the right thing. I know you want to sort out the cottage, but you don’t have to put yourself through hell to do it. You’ve done enough – the rest can be taken care of without you having to live there.’

As she listened to her sister’s comforting words, a few tears broke loose and ran down Grace’s face. When she hung up, she walked upstairs and looked out of the window across the moors. There are so many reasons why I can’t wait to get out of here, she reminded herself as she surveyed the bleak view. So why do I still feel this galling pull to stay?