‘Me?’ I exclaim. ‘I’m not the one who drinks around here.’

  He looks away and hunches his shoulders. ‘OK,’ he says. ‘We won’t talk about it now.’ We walk on in silence. ‘Have you… have you met someone else?’ he asks, gruffly.

  ‘No,’ I say, thinking uneasily of the man in the pub. ‘That’s not it.’

  He takes a deep breath. ‘Well, that’s one thing I suppose.’

  ‘Have you?’

  He gives a short, humourless laugh. ‘Believe it or not, I still love you, Cecily.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say quietly. ‘Maybe we’ve just grown apart.’

  ‘You grew apart from me,’ he says, with a twist in his voice. ‘And there must be a reason for it. But if you won’t tell me, I can’t make you. Only you’ve always said there’s no way we can get a divorce.’ He stops and swings round to face me, colour flaming his cheeks. ‘Cecily, I can’t keep going like this.’ The green of his iris flares into gold and darkens. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk about. Either we do get a divorce, or we see a councillor. This… this is killing me. And it’s destroying our daughter, too.’ He’s stopped walking, and we’re standing on the pavement awkwardly, our bodies angled away.

  ‘I know,’ I manage.

  He’s trembling and I reach out to touch his arm. It’s an instinct. But as my fingers close around the fabric of his jacket, he flinches and looks at me. ‘God. Cecily…’ his voices breaks. He stops and looks away, clears his throat.

  I watch his profile, see a twitch of muscle spasm at his jaw. ‘Perhaps I was just too young,’ I say gently. ‘We rushed into marriage.’

  He nods and turns back to me. ‘I never forgave myself for having a relationship with a student. It was my fault. I was irresponsible. And then I got you pregnant.’

  ‘It takes two,’ I say. ‘I was an adult.’

  He shakes his head. ‘You were innocent. You seemed younger than other students. I think – I think your solitary childhood – your faith – kept you protected from the world. Your father didn’t let you grow up.’ He shoots me a quick glance. ‘And being an only child in that huge old mausoleum… I can’t imagine what it was like. You were lonely when we met, I knew that. But you’d chosen to be alone, and I felt honoured that you wanted my company.’

  An only child. Breath catches in my throat. I know Cecily has lived with that story since Daddy disowned me, but it strikes me now as a cruelty, to erase me and Henry from her life, to deny us our place in her past. Why did she go along with our father’s fiction? She didn’t have to obey his wishes. She’s always been weak. Her lie deprived me of knowing my niece, of knowing Gabriel. Until now.

  I snatch a glance at the man at my side. His eyes gleam with unshed tears. He’s a good person. He doesn’t deserve to sleep in a separate bedroom, or to live in a house with a wife who avoids him. It’s true, he likes a drink sometimes. I remember his stumbling footsteps the other night. But it must be the situation driving him to it. I can hardly blame him. His hands are steady. He seems to be responsible about his work. I don’t actually think he’s an alcoholic. But in that case, Cecily lied. I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me.

  ‘This is a mess,’ I say. ‘And you’re right. We either need to divorce, or seek help.’

  ‘Cecily,’ he says, with an outward rush of breath. ‘You have no idea what a relief it is to hear you say that.’ He moves closer to me. ‘I’ve been going mad.’ I hear tears pressing at his throat. ‘I always worried that you needed the church so much because… because there’s something lacking in our marriage.’

  I can’t have a conversation about religion. ‘Well,’ I tell him, sweeping my arm out towards the horizon, and walking on briskly, ‘here’s to a better future. To clarity. To making decisions.’

  From the periphery of my eye, I catch his stare. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to make this change. But whatever it is, I’m grateful.’

  We’ve reached a café, a whitewashed building with mullioned windows. He tilts his head towards it. ‘We could get a coffee?’

  ‘Sure.’ I smile.

  Sitting at a table in an empty room, resonant with the scent of fresh bread, he orders two coffees and a couple of croissants. My stomach rumbles. ‘I’m starving,’ he says as he takes a bite of the pastry when it arrives and wrinkles his nose. ‘I think these are supermarket ones warmed up.’ But he eats it with apparent enjoyment, offers me the other one, and when I refuse, remembering what Cecily would do, he eats that too.

  He raises his cup and sips, puts it back in the saucer carefully. ‘I don’t want to push you,’ he says. ‘But it would be good to know how you’re feeling about… about us…?’

  ‘I think finding a good counsellor would be the best way forwards,’ I say slowly. ‘If you agree?’ At the very least, I think, this will buy some time while he tries to find someone. And perhaps Cecily will agree to it once she’s back. If she comes back, a little voice in my head adds.

  ‘I still think we can save this marriage.’ He looks at me, earnestly. ‘We have a daughter. We owe it to her.’

  I glance at him over the rim of my cup. I had a completely different idea of who he was, and it makes me uneasy, knowing she lied to me. I don’t understand why she did, and what else might be untrue.

  ‘Gabriel,’ I say, ‘Why did you throw the plants away?’

  He frowns. ‘What?’

  ‘The three plants I put in the living room.’ I falter, seeing his look of incomprehension. ‘They were dumped in the bin. I thought it was you.’

  He shakes his head, frowning. ‘I’d never throw plants out. I’d have them all over the house if it was up to me.’

  Bea, then. I’m confused about why she’d do something so mean and destructive, but I remember her anger when I’d asked her if she was hungry. I won’t mention it to her, not now we’re beginning to get on better.

  I try and keep the rest of our conversation light, although I’m aware that anything I say could give me away. But he isn’t watching out for inconsistencies. Relief comes off him in waves. He smiles and laughs, his body relaxed. Then he folds his hands around his empty cup, and shifts forward in his seat, the groove between his eyebrows deepening. ‘I’m worried about Bea,’ he says. ‘I think our problems have impacted badly on her.’

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘She’s unhappy.’

  ‘Perhaps now we’re sorting things out, she’ll feel better?’

  He looks so hopeful, so trusting. I squirm under the weight of my lie. I look down. ‘I don’t know, maybe.’

  ‘You think she’s overweight, don’t you?’ he asks. ‘But she’s probably been comfort eating because of us.’

  ‘I’m not the expert,’ I tell him. ‘Let’s take it slowly and not rush her.’ I push a strand of hair behind my ear. ‘We can all eat healthier things. Stop buying crisps and biscuits.’

  He grabs my hand. ‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘It’ll be easier to deal with everything if we’re on the same team.’

  ‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Whatever happens, she’s our daughter.’

  I withdraw my hand, although I liked his fingers wrapped around mine. Warm skin. Just the right pressure. Feeling floods up my arm from the memory of his touch, pulses into my belly. I sit back quickly.

  ‘Do you ever regret our decision not to have more kids?’ he asks. ‘Sometimes I think it would have been good for Bea to have a sibling.’

  I can’t answer him. I have no idea why that decision was taken.

  He flushes, biting his lip. ‘Sorry,’ he says quickly. ‘I know I agreed not to talk about it. But you’re a good mum, Cecily, whatever you think. Anyway, we have our daughter, and I’ll always be grateful to you for that.’

  I clear my throat and look down at the table.

  He’s looking at me with a considering gaze. ‘You know, there’s something else about you that’s different.’

  I look up, managing to hold his gaze, and give a slight, casual shrug. ‘Really? What?’

  He laughs. ‘I’ve got it.’ He waves a finger in my direction. ‘You’re not wearing any black stuff around your eyes.’

  I touch my face. I forgot to put kohl and mascara on this morning.

  ‘I always liked you better without it,’ he says, dismissing the matter and leaning across the table towards me. ‘The point is, whatever you’ve been doing recently. Exercise classes or walking or… I don’t know. It’s done you good.’

  There’s no hint of suspicion in his words. It must be Bea who’s sneaking into my bedroom and poking around. Throwing away the plants had to be a message. She doubts me. I suppress a shiver.

  The waitress comes over to ask if we want anything else, and I slump in my chair while Gabriel asks for the bill and chats to her. The back of my head hurts, and I’m grateful for a break from his attention, for some time to calm my heart. I fiddle with the gold band on my finger, turning it around and around.

  The rest of the day is how I imagine a proper family Saturday. Gabriel spends the morning in the garden ‘tidying up.’ I watch him kneeling by a flowerbed with a trowel. I’d like to join him out there, get my hands muddy, but Cecily hated the weeding at Hawksmoor more than any of the tasks our father set. Bea appears rubbing her eyes, and I glance at her nervously.

  ‘You’re up at last, sleepyhead,’ Gabriel says as he comes in from the garden, rumpling her hair in the manner of sitcom Dad. Bea smiles bashfully as she bats his hand away. All of this is lit with a kind of gleaming, sunlit halo. This is what Cecily is running away from? I can’t understand why my sister is unhappy, why she doesn’t love being with these two people. Her people. I can’t imagine having anyone who belongs to me. I never understood why she didn’t tell Gabriel that I existed. I suppose she told the lie when she met him, and after that, just felt she couldn’t ever admit to it.

  I attempt to make a mushroom pie, but it’s too complicated for my amateur skills. The pastry is claggy as clay, the thin sauce tastes like I’ve used the entire contents of a salt canister. I hope Gabriel doesn’t have high blood pressure.

  ‘Did you forget to put the chicken in?’ Bea asks with a grin, looking at a mushroom hanging limply from her fork. She isn’t behaving as if she’s suspicious of me. Perhaps she’s a good actress. Better than me.

  ‘Actually, I think I might be a vegetarian,’ I say.

  ‘You think?’ Gabriel raises an eyebrow.

  I sit up straighter. ‘Yes. So, I won’t be cooking any more meat.’ I shrug. ‘Sorry.’

  Bea bursts into laughter, and Gabriel joins her. I look from one to the other. ‘Why are you laughing?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Gabriel says. ‘It’s just… you’ve gone vegetarian a few times – and then you’re back to eating meat within a few days.’

  ‘I have?’

  ‘We’re fine with it, Mum,’ Bea reassures me.

  ‘Good,’ I say, clearing the plates. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get better at making veggie things. And this time I’m not reverting.’

  ‘One of us can always cook,’ Gabriel says in a casual voice. ‘You don’t have to do everything in the kitchen. We’d like to help, wouldn’t we, sweet pea?’

  Bea nods.

  After the meal has been cleared away, we play Scrabble in the living room, and then cards, at my suggestion. ‘I didn’t know you knew all these games,’ Gabriel said. ‘I didn’t even know that you played.’

  ‘Oh, they’re just things I remember from childhood,’ I say. ‘We were always looking for ways to pass the time, especially in the winter.’

  ‘But you were an only child?’

  Heat rushes to my face. ‘I… I did have some friends,’ I say, getting to my feet.

  ‘Just need to put the washing in the dryer,’ I mutter over my shoulder, slipping out of the room into the kitchen. As I pull twists of damp clothing from the mouth of the washing machine, I pause and press my forehead hard against the machine. I must be more careful. I’ve begun to feel too relaxed.

  We get takeaway fish and chips for supper at Bea’s request.

  ‘Wow, you really have gone vegetarian,’ she says as I unwrap my fishless portion. We exchange a glance and I try to discern anything inside in her eyes that might lend her words a hidden challenge or question. But she’s happily dipping her own chips into ketchup and asking Gabriel if we can watch a film. It occurs to me that a girl of Bea’s age should be out with her friends on a Saturday night.

  We slob on the sofa and watch the film she’s chosen from the basket of DVDs under the telly – a silly, fast-paced thriller. Gabriel sits in the middle. When Bea shrieks at something on the screen and falls across her father’s lap, his body presses against mine, our thighs pushed together. I’m trapped for a moment, wedged between him and the arm of the sofa. When Bea removes herself from his lap and he can readjust his position, the air between us is like a cold draft.

  Later, in the bathroom, I follow Cecily’s routine for the first time, smoothing on different products and taking them off again, adding little drops of serum and patting on a thick cream. It takes ages, but it’s strangely enjoyable, almost trance-inducing. As I unlock the door, I’m dismayed to find Gabriel on the landing waiting to come in. He’s in checked pyjamas, his feet bare. He gives me a rueful grin. I slip out as he comes forwards, and we’re suddenly close. ‘You smell nice,’ he says.

  I can’t meet his eyes. ‘Thanks,’ I murmur. ‘Night.’

  I shimmy past his chest, holding my body away and escape into my room, shutting the door quietly. I smell of her, I remind myself. I’m the imposter. He thinks I’m his wife.

  13

  CECILY

  Jude was fascinated by Hawksmoor, but as Henry despised the place, it was me who showed Jude the house. We explored the disused servants’ floor, the scullery and butler’s pantry. I took him across the yard to the game larder, a small stone building for hanging dead animals. ‘Why is it hexagonal?’ he asked, peering inside.

  ‘To keep it cooler.’ I didn’t like the game larder; it was dark and full of hooks and smelt of death. I hurried him away and into the kitchen, but Jane, our cook, shooed us out. ‘I’ve got enough to do without you two getting under my feet,’ she said.

  ‘And this is the buttery,’ I said, opening the door into the cell-like room.

  ‘Where they made butter?’ he asked.

  I laughed. ‘Guess again.’ I waved my arm. ‘A clue. They kept something here.’

  ‘I don’t know. A whole lot of fat butts, perhaps?’

  I banged his elbow with mine and rolled my eyes. ‘Kegs of wine and beer.’

  He was entranced by the hidden chapel in the cellar, the banisters carved into sea creatures, the dark and oily portraits of our ancestors, even the boot room, with its pairs of mismatched wellingtons, cobwebby hooks groaning under the weight of dog leads, shooting bags, mackintoshes stiff with age and waxed cotton jackets full of mouse nests. He thought it was charming that broken windows had been patched with cardboard and rain dripped into rooms.

  He couldn’t get enough of my stories, especially the ones about the Elizabethans who’d hidden Jesuit priests in the priest hole on the top landing. I explained how my ancestors broke the law to pray in the secret chapel built under the house. I didn’t tell him that I saw them; not just Elizabethans, but Victorians and Edwardians too, passing me in the dining room, brushing through me on the stairs – a monk in his brown tunic and cowl, a giggling child dressed as a fairy, a man in a feathered hat with long curls down his back, a sword at his side – and sometimes I heard their voices, felt their laughter and fury as if it were my own.

  When I showed him the armoury, he stood blinking in the swinging beam of the overhead light, and I sensed his interest quicken. Shadows moved across the killing devices on display, the space musty as a sealed tomb. This was forbidden territory. I strained my ears for the sound of Daddy and closed the door behind us quietly.

  ‘Wow,’ he breathed. ‘Henry didn’t tell me about this. It’s… it’s epic.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I trailed my fingers casually over the gun display cabinet, relishing the moment. ‘Daddy’s writing a book about ancient weapons – he collects them, and some of them have been in the family forever.’

  I picked up a heavy mahogany box inlaid with ivory and opened it. ‘Duelling pistols,’ I said. ‘French.’

  Reverently, Jude picked one out of its green baize hollow, weighing it in the palm of his hand. The long barrel gleamed blue in the light. ‘Do you think they’ve been used?’

  ‘Of course.’ I took it from him, put it back, and closed the box, wiping the edge with the sleeve of my blouse.

  ‘You’re so lucky to have all this.’ Jude paced the flagstones, staring at the walls, at horned heads with glassy, reproachful eyes, swords slung from hooks, a flintlock rife with silver engraving. ‘My parents do their best to pretend our relatives never existed. Like we’ve just hatched from an egg or something.’ He leant against the gun cabinet. ‘Every time we move country, our house smells the same, of plastic and air freshener. Everything brand new. The best of the best, as my parents are always boasting. I’m glad they let me come here in the hols. Not that they care about seeing me. As long as my grades are good, that’s all they’re interested in. Wish I lived here always, with you lot.’ He nudged me with his elbow. ‘You could be my sister.’

  My heart pumped with gladness and confusion. I couldn’t think what to say, how to explain to him that he was more than another brother to me. Much more. I love you. The words sounded simple but saying them was complicated and fraught with danger.

  He paused before the serrated jaws of a large trap. ‘What was this used for?’ He reached a finger towards the sharp edges. ‘It’s big enough for a bear.’

  ‘It’s to catch men,’ I told him.

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, standing next to him, our hands just an airy whisper apart. ‘Poachers.’

  I revelled in his attention, the power of being the one to keep him enthralled. ‘Until the 1800s it was legal to catch poachers and trespassers with these. Sometimes they caught other people by mistake, innocent ramblers, the master of the house, even. And animals of course.’