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a growing pressure behind her eyes.
    Despite her vigilance, Eliza didn’t notice the stone and iron gates until they were passing through them. She turned round to try to get a better look, but they had already disappeared into the darkness. Facing forward, she saw a speck of light in the near distance, growing stronger with each pull of the carriage.
    From the light emerged the outline of a manor house. Like Carroll’s Cheshire Cat, it came into being piece by piece – there a window, there a chimney, there a hedge. The carriage drew closer. There appeared a door and, by that door, a thin, unmoving figure.
    Mr Drewry pulled the carriage to a stop in front of the house. The still figure remained in the doorway. It was a woman – Eliza could see now – her hair pulled back in a loose bun, dark dress swaying in the night-time breeze. Eliza had barely enough strength to climb down from the carriage and nearly fainted as she and Rebecca waited to follow Mr Drewry into the house. As they did so, the woman stepped aside, allowing them entry, then approached the girls, a lantern held above their heads as she inspected them.
    The shadows from the flame fell on her face, exaggerating the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. Grey flecked her dark brown hair, and her serious manner reminded Eliza of their long-dead grandmother. When she spoke to Mr Drewry, her breath smelled of aspic and her voice sounded much younger than such a face should allow.
    â€˜Why,’ she asked, ‘are there two of them?’

3
    Eliza lost her grip on Rebecca’s hand as they walked through the serpentine halls. Gilded frames decorated the walls, reflecting the light from the lantern’s low flame. The paintings themselves were near-black, swallowed by darkness, the lantern too weak to illuminate the full images within.
    Her body, damp from the rain and heavy from exhaustion, lacked the strength to reclaim Rebecca’s hand. Each step threatened collapse. The boiled ham she had eaten on the train sat undigested in her stomach, weighing her down. All she could do was follow the warm orange light and allow herself to be led deeper into the labyrinth.
    The housekeeper seemed oblivious to Eliza’s exhaustion. She strode ahead at a steady pace, weaving her way effortlessly through the house. Eliza’s head pounded in time to her pulse. She focused on that pain, willing the rest of her stiff body numb. No longer could she feel her feet hitting the floor. Any moment her legs would give out beneath her.
    Without warning, the housekeeper stopped. Holding the lantern up to an unmarked door, she removed a set of heavy iron keys from her waist. She spoke, but Eliza’s tired mind made no sense of the words. What she saw through the opened door was a bed neatly made and waiting. She could feel the warmth of her sister’s body beside her, but her head felt so light that if she turned to look, she knew she would faint.
    There were more words, more things Eliza could not understand. Instead, she forced herself forward and fell onto the bed, her body spiralling into sleep as she felt Rebecca climb in beside her.
    *
    Rusty curtain rings scraped against a metal rod. Eliza jerked awake.
    â€˜It’s six thirty,’ said a sharp voice. ‘Breakfast is in half an hour. Out, turn right. Third door on the left. The kitchen doors lock precisely at seven. Chores begin at seven thirty. From the kitchen, I’ll give you a full tour of the manor then set you your list for the day. Your luggage is in the hall.’
    The door banged shut.
    Eliza sat in a momentary stupor. She felt queasy, her left leg only pins and needles, and the headache that saw her to bed remained to greet her this morning.
    â€˜Rebecca, wake up.’ She nudged the lump beside her.
    A grunt sounded from beneath the blanket.
    â€˜Yes,’ Eliza said. ‘We have to eat.’
    The lump would not move.
    â€˜Come on, dearie.’ Eliza prodded