‘Stop it,’ said Freddie hoarsely.
‘Stop what? Would you rather we discussed the truth? Would you rather I told you what I saw when I wandered through the world during the war? Would you rather I told you about the blood, the broken bones, the screams, the young men crying for their mothers? Would you rather I told you about one young man I saw in the dirt, looking up at me, his eyes pleading as the life drained from him? He could well have been your own brother.’
Freddie was sobbing now.
‘I see this is upsetting you. I’m so sorry, Freddie. Maybe we could discuss something else. Why don’t you tell me about the estate and the people who dwell within it?’
Freddie wiped his eyes. ‘No.’ He tried to take in a deep breath.
‘No?’
‘No,’ Freddie growled, angry now, despite his grief. ‘I’ve looked at your face. I’ve really looked at it, and I know one thing.’
Mr Pheeps looked genuinely surprised.
‘I know it’s not your real face,’ Freddie hissed through gritted teeth.
They both stared at each other for what seemed like a long time. Then Mr Pheeps raised his cupped hands towards his mouth. The bird was still trembling.
‘Poor bird,’ he said. He puckered his lips and blew the faintest puff of air on it.
The bird stiffened briefly then went limp, its eyes glazing over. Mr Pheeps opened his palms like a magician giving a final flourish, and the dead bird hit the ground with a soft flump.
Mr Pheeps wiped his hands.
‘I’ll see you at dinner. Perhaps your good father will be more forthcoming.’
Mr Pheeps turned on his heel and left.
Freddie went down on his knees and looked at the bird. He wrapped his arms around himself, fighting his tears.
Jem
Jem and Mirabelle spent most of the afternoon in the grounds. Though they talked and laughed as normal, Jem couldn’t help notice that Mirabelle seemed different in some way. Perhaps it was just the fact that she was walking in sunlight. Perhaps it was something more.
They played a long game of hide-and-seek, during which Mirabelle had been like a thing possessed. She was breathless with excitement, and yet Jem could see something else in her eyes – a strange kind of rage.
After playing, they sat together in a small copse of trees and a long silence descended. Jem could see Mirabelle was pondering something as she played with a small pebble between her fingers.
‘I don’t know what I am,’ she said at last. ‘I’m not who I thought I was. I don’t burn in sunlight, and now I know why I can’t do anything. It’s probably because I’m more human than the rest of the Family.’
Jem desperately tried to think of something comforting to say.
‘You don’t need to eat or sleep,’ she blurted.
Mirabelle looked pained. ‘Well, that’s very exciting, isn’t it?’
She flung the pebble away into the undergrowth.
Jem winced. ‘Are you thinking about her?’ she asked.
Mirabelle nodded. ‘Sounds strange, doesn’t it? I didn’t know I had a mother, and suddenly because of Piglet I feel like I knew her, and now it feels like I’ve lost her.’
She wiped her eyes with the heel of one hand, refusing to give way to the tears. She clasped her hands round her knees and breathed in viciously through her nose, rocking back and forth.
‘It’s like having hooks in my chest, and they tear.’
Jem placed a hand on Mirabelle’s shoulder, then was distracted by a sudden flapping sound. Four ravens landed on a branch above their heads, followed by the one-eyed raven from the house, who twitched his head and cawed imperiously to his companions. The others responded with their own throaty calls, and then the lead raven turned its one good eye to Jem and glared at her. It felt as if its gaze was burning right into her very soul.
‘What are they doing?’ she asked Mirabelle.
‘Being nosy,’ said Mirabelle, standing up. She waved her arms at them. ‘Shoo, shoo,’ she shouted, but the ravens paid her no heed, and Jem could have sworn that the one-eyed raven cocked its beak snootily and turned its face away.
‘Cwaw cwaw,’ it said, still turned away as if to express its indifference.
Mirabelle looked even more miserable. She shrugged at Jem.
‘I still don’t know what I am.’
‘You’re my friend. For what it’s worth.’
Mirabelle managed a smile. The smile vanished as she spotted something behind Jem, and Jem immediately felt her skin crawl.
One of the twins was standing right behind her. She was semi-visible, and she was fiddling with her pendant and looking sorrowfully at the ground. Even Jem could guess who it was.
‘What is it, Dotty?’ Mirabelle asked.
Dotty looked up, tears in her translucent eyes. Jem found the effect very perturbing.
‘I’m sorry, Mirabelle. It was all my fault.’
‘What was your fault?’ asked Mirabelle.
Dotty clamped her lips tightly together and shook her head.
‘Dotty?’
Mirabelle looked at her. ‘They think it was the boy.’
‘What?’ asked Jem.
‘Enoch and the others, they think it was the boy’s fault, that he stole the key, because he’s a thief.’ Dotty looked hurriedly at Jem. ‘No offence.’
Jem felt a hot little twinge of anger at the comment.
‘But it was me who gave it to him. I gave him the key to unlock Piglet’s door.’
There was silence in the clearing now, except for the sound of one of the ravens ruffling its feathers. Mirabelle looked as shocked as Jem felt.
‘Why? Why did you do that?’ Mirabelle asked.
‘Because I thought it would be fun.’
Jem thought Mirabelle was about to launch herself at Dotty, and, to be fair, she wouldn’t have blamed her, but her friend just closed her eyes, took a moment to compose herself and then finally sighed.
‘I see.’
‘In the end, though, it wasn’t fun, was it?’
Mirabelle shook her head wearily. ‘No, Dotty, it wasn’t.’
‘Are you angry with me?’
Mirabelle shook her head again.
‘Are you cross with me?’ asked Dotty, now looking at Jem.
Jem was a little taken aback by
