Page 6 of The Forgotten Boy

“And the rest?”

He grinned—there was no other word for it: “The rest are fools.” He stood up and swung his chair back against the wall it had come from. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

She listened to his footsteps receding. Yes, he had a definite hesitation in that left leg. It must still be considerably weaker than the right one, but he covered it well. Those who’d been to war knew how to cover lots of things.

There was no use trying to get any more work done. Diana tidied up her files and desk and checked her watch: ten minutes to her meeting with Miss Somersby. As she picked up the notebook that went with her everywhere, another set of footsteps sounded in the corridor.

For one moment her heart leaped at the thought of Joshua returning, but these were too light. One of the boys, perhaps? But no, there was a distinct clicking sound—the sound made by the heels of a woman’s shoes.

She crossed the room, expecting to find Beth Willis. Although she was even busier than Diana, they had spent a little time together each day since her arrival.

The footsteps were just outside the door when Diana opened it with a greeting on her lips.

A greeting that died instantly. It wasn’t Beth. It wasn’t anyone.

The corridor was entirely empty.

CHAPTER SIX

JULIET

2018

The great advantage of any physical work after months of lying in bed watching Netflix was how easily it exhausted Juliet. She was in pajamas by seven o’clock her first full day, which didn’t seem so early considering it had been dark outside three hours earlier. She intended to read, but when she jerked awake hours later, the book had fallen on her chest still open to the first page. She rubbed her breastbone where it had hit her and thought that at least there wasn’t anyone to see a bruise.

Rolling over, Juliet checked her phone: 4 a.m. With a groan, she realized she had to get up and pee.

Why did beautiful old English houses have to be so freaking cold? Even in her thermal tee and wool socks, Juliet was shaking by the time she reached the toilet at the other end of the corridor. She pulled the cistern chain and dashed back to her room to the sound of creaking pipes.

And not just the pipes. As the banging subsided along with the flow of water, Juliet heard something soft and whispery snaking through the air. Like the intake of breath just before someone speaks, or the echo after a footstep.

She whipped around in her bedroom doorway, but of course it was empty—the entire fourteen-thousand-square-foot house was empty. It was freezing outside, and anything she thought she heard was only mice moving through the walls in search of warmth and shelter. Oh please, let it only be mice, she thought as she took refuge back in bed. No rats. Or raccoons.

She didn’t hear anything else before finally drifting back to sleep around dawn.

When she woke again, Juliet was astonished to realize that she’d slept until ten—and that she was starving. Two things that had not happened in so long. She scrambled into jeans and a wool sweater and was halfway down the main stairs when she heard the definite sounds of someone in the house. Someone real, unless ghosts had learned to vacuum.

She was prepared with a smile when she reached the ground floor and found a woman vacuuming in the room to the right of the central hall. This must be Rachel Bennett, whom Nell had said would come once a week to clean. Juliet moved carefully into her line of sight so as not to alarm her.

Rachel switched off the vacuum the moment she saw her. She was younger than Juliet had expected—midthirties, at most, with a cheerful face and round cheeks with matching dimples.

“Ms. Stratford, I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“Juliet, please. Of course not. I just wanted to say hi and then I’ll get out of your way.”

“Do you want breakfast? I’d be happy to make something.”

“Oh no,” Juliet said, horrified. “You’re not—I mean, I can cook.”

Rachel clicked the vacuum into a standing position. “You’d be doing me a favor. I’d rather cook than hoover any day. Besides, I’m dreadfully nosy and this will give me a chance to find out your darkest secrets.”

You’re far too happy-looking to want my darkest secrets, Juliet thought. But she couldn’t think of a graceful way to continue saying no without sounding like Rachel did work for her.

“Thank you, Ms. Bennett. When I say I can cook, I use the term loosely.”

“It’s Rachel. I brought fresh bread with me. Come tell me what else you want.”

When Rachel Bennett said fresh bread, she meant “kneaded by hand and taken out of the oven an hour ago.” Also raspberry jam (“simple to freeze jam in the autumn”), a dozen eggs that had never seen a supermarket, and local bacon. While Rachel fried the bacon and eggs, she chatted away about herself.

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