Page 45 of The Sisters at the Last House Before the Sea

‘What sort of outrageous behaviour?’ asked Maisie, perking up at the thought of some interesting gossip.

‘I dunno,’ said Beth. When Maisie frowned with disappointment, she added: ‘Stealing and stuff, I think. My gran used to go to school with some of them and said they were always in dirty clothes. No one wanted to sit by them.’

‘That’s a shame.’ Maisie, well used to being the girl no one at school wanted to sit by, felt a sudden companionship with the children brought up in this bleak, isolated place.

Ryan, who’d been crouched over the letterbox for the last five minutes, stood up straight with a groan. ‘I don’t think Connie’s going to answer the door.’

You think? Maisie rolled her eyes, worried that she seemed to be losing all feeling in her frozen toes.

‘One last chance,’ said Freya, bending to shout into the letterbox again. ‘Come on, Connie. You might not need provisions, but what about your cats? They’ll find it harder to forage in this weather, and we’ve got a box full of cat food out here. There’s no charge. It’s free, if you want it.’

The prospect of free stuff did the trick. There was the sound of a bolt being dragged back and the door opened a crack. A woman with wild, long white hair poked her head around it and narrowed her eyes. ‘Did you say cat food?’

‘That’s right.’ Freya took a step back as the door was pulled wide open. ‘Can we bring it in? And we can make you a cup of tea, if you’d like.’

‘Perfectly capable of making my own tea,’ the woman muttered in a broad Devon accent. But she stood to one side and let Ryan carry a box of cat food and vegetables into her hallway. Freya followed and, after a moment’s hesitation, so did Beth and Maisie.

As the rest of the rescue party filed into what looked like the kitchen, Maisie stayed standing in the hallway. It was gloomy in here, with bare stone walls and a flagstone floor that dipped in places from the many feet that had walked across it over the centuries. Uncarpeted stairs led to the next floor and to Maisie’s left was an open door.

With a quick glance towards the kitchen, Maisie stepped through the door, and tried to stop breathing in. This was a sitting room, with a stained, striped settee against one wall and a stone fireplace opposite it – and the whole room stank of cats.

One wiry black cat was stretched out on the settee, and another cat – this one larger and ginger – was lying on a tattered rug in the middle of the floor. It opened one eye and watched Maisie warily as she walked to the window, shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans and looked outside.

This room faced away from the village, out across the moorland which rose into the distance. A large bird was flying across the landscape, making wide, lazy circles in the snow-heavy sky. It was a bird of prey, Maisie realised, searching for its next meal.

She began to take shallow breaths in and out, gradually acclimatising to the feline stench.

‘What the hell are you doing in ’ere?’

Maisie swung round, pulling her hands from her pockets, and swallowed. Connie was standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. ‘I said, why are you in here? Are you snooping?’ Maisie shook her head, feeling every muscle in her body tighten. ‘You’re gathering information on me, aren’t you.’ Maisie shook her head more vigorously. ‘You’re poking your nose in so you can get me out of this place.’

Maisie opened her mouth but only a squeak came out.

She was deliberating pushing past Connie and making a run for it when the old lady’s bright eyes focused on Maisie’s feet. She pointed a gnarled finger at the floor. ‘What’s that?’

For a woman who, according to Beth, was in her nineties, Connie was surprisingly agile. Before Maisie had a chance to move, she’d walked forward and picked up the carved angel that had fallen from Maisie’s pocket.

‘Where did you steal this?’ hissed Connie, grabbing hold of Maisie’s arm. She was incredibly old – Maisie had never seen wrinkles like it – but she had the grip of a man half her age.

‘It was a present,’ gulped Maisie, finding her voice at last.

‘Who from?’ Connie’s hair, frizzed out around her face, made her look both eccentric and terrifying.

‘From Jessie.’

‘What Jessie?’

‘Jessie in Heaven’s Cove. R…Rose Cottage,’ Maisie stuttered. ‘My…um, my great-grandmother.’

Connie’s grip lessened slightly. ‘Jessie’s your great-grandmother, is she? And you say she gave you this?’

‘Uh-huh. She did. That’s right. Yeah.’ Maisie nodded and swallowed again. She could hear people putting food away in the kitchen and banging cupboards, but no one was coming to rescue her. ‘She left it to me in her will.’

Connie’s hand fell from Maisie’s arm and the old lady stepped back. ‘She’s dead, is she? That’s a shame. She was always good to me – not like some of the others. You’d best have it back then.’ Connie thrust the angel at Maisie. ‘I’m surprised she still had it, mind. That’s nice. Unexpected, really.’ A flicker of sadness crossed the old lady’s face, making her look less scary.

‘How do you know about the angel?’ Maisie asked, finding some courage.

‘I made it, a long time ago.’

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