The Secrets of Castle Du Rêve: A thrilling saga of three women’s lives tangled together in a web of secrets

This, she thought happily, will change everything.

The tall girl was called Mary and she was thirteen. The little boy with the matching gapped front teeth was her brother, Sid, and was ten, the same age as Evelyn. Sid was rather loud and ran everywhere instead of walking. Evelyn liked them the most. The other boys seemed to have less energy than Sid. There was a little fat boy with a coat that was too small for him and he was called Derek. He said very little and stared up at everything as though he had no idea where he was. When eggs were served for breakfast the day after they all arrived, he poked at the slimy yolk, his freckled nose wrinkled.

‘What is it?’ Evelyn saw him whisper to Rita, who was eleven, and had long ginger hair in a tatty plait down her back. Rita shrugged and sliced hers, then popped a piece into her mouth. ‘Don’t know,’ she said as she chewed. ‘But it tastes strange.’

Most of the children talked non-stop. It was as though they had all been best friends forever, but, as Mary told Evelyn, most of them had never met before coming to the castle.

‘I’m lucky because I’ve got Sid here with me,’ Mary said, before taking an enormous bite of toast. She chewed for a while before carrying on. ‘Your parents didn’t want to take him at first. They’d got enough of us, I reckon. But I said I wouldn’t get on that bus unless he did too. So here he is. But we didn’t know any of the others before yesterday, and I don’t think any of them knew each other.’ Mary swallowed and smiled, and Evelyn saw that the crooked teeth were a pale shade of mustard. Mary didn’t seem to care and smiled broadly as she talked, which made her look pretty all the same. ‘Perhaps,’ she continued, ‘we’ll see more of our friends who we know from home when we go to school. We’re going to the school on the High Street. Do you go there too?’

Evelyn shook her head. She’d seen the school before when she’d walked with Miss Silver to the promenade: a tall building that was surrounded by what looked like marshy fields. She’d never been inside, but imagined it to be loud and full of strong smells like ink and cabbage and boys. ‘No,’ she replied quietly. ‘I have a governess, so I do my lessons here in the castle.’

‘At home? That must be a bit lonely. I can’t say I fancy staying at home all day every day.’

‘It’s boring,’ Evelyn said. ‘That’s why it’s good that you’re here.’ She wished that she could have breakfast with Mary every morning. It was only because Evelyn’s father had gone out early that day that Evelyn had been allowed to sit in the kitchen with them, instead of in the dining room.

‘I’m not sure it should be a regular habit,’ Mrs du Rêve had said that morning. ‘Your father won’t like it. But perhaps, as they’ve just arrived, one day won’t hurt.’ She’d stroked Evelyn’s hair and smiled her beautiful smile.

‘Your castle is wonderful. But I don’t know if I’d much like not having any school friends. You’re missing out a bit,’ Mary said now, as she cut into her egg decisively.

‘Yes,’ Evelyn said, pushing her own breakfast around her plate. Food tasted different in the kitchen, as though it had been soured by all the smells of cooking and boiling of copper pans and people. ‘I am.’

‘Was London frightening?’ Evelyn asked Mary one day after the children had been at the castle for about a week. They had been running around the castle grounds with the other children, playing hide and seek, but the game had come to an end now and Evelyn and Mary were in the bedroom that the evacuees were sharing. It was the first time Evelyn had ever been in this room: she’d never had a need to before. The unpleasant smell that she had noticed when the evacuees first arrived lingered in here, attached to the socks and teddy bears and slippers and handkerchiefs that the children had brought with them.

Mary shrugged. ‘No, it wasn’t that frightening. There was nothing really happening. The war will all be over soon anyway. I can’t wait until it is.’

‘Is that yours?’ Evelyn asked, as she noticed a doll lying on the floor.

‘Yes,’ Mary said. ‘I know I’m a bit old for dolls, really. But she reminds me of home, and so I couldn’t help bring her. I didn’t know where on earth I would end up, so I wanted something of mine with me other than a flannel and a coat.’

‘She’s so beautiful,’ Evelyn said. She’d had doll after doll, and still received the occasional one at Christmas or on birthdays. But this one was nicer, somehow, than all of Evelyn’s. Although she’d obviously been played with over and over again, and her paint was chipping, her black hair was threaded with strands of sparkle, and her dress was embroidered with glimmering thread.

‘Here,’ Mary said, handing Evelyn the doll. ‘Have a proper look.’

‘I like things that sparkle,’ Evelyn said, stroking the doll’s hair. ‘There’s something special about such beautiful things, don’t you think?’

Mary laughed. ‘I suppose there is. You’re lucky. There’s enough sparkle in this castle to last you a lifetime,’

Evelyn shrugged. ‘I don’t feel as though there is. I’m dying to explore other places. It’s been more fun in the castle with you here, though. I’ll be lonely when you all go back home.’

‘I won’t have chance to be lonely,’ Mary said with a huff. ‘I’ll be going straight to work after I’ve finished school. And then I’ll just have to hope someone marries me. You’re lucky, Evelyn. You’re beautiful. I’ll be lucky to even get an offer.’

‘That’s not true,’ said Evelyn. ‘You’re beautiful too. And strong and brave, and kind.’

Mary gave a snort of laughter. ‘Boys don’t want strength and bravery from a girl, Evelyn. They want golden hair and big blue eyes, like yours. You know,’ Mary said, staring down at the doll on the bed, ‘your beauty could get you to all sorts of places.’

‘I hope so. I want to be in films. I want to live in Hollywood and be famous,’ Evelyn said, her heart fluttering at just the thought.

‘You could be. You could do anything. Especially now. The war’s going to change everything, Evelyn. And when it does, you should be ready.’

That night, Evelyn’s parents threw one of their parties at the castle. Evelyn and the children weren’t allowed downstairs, of course. But after the most elaborate furniture in the castle had been dragged around from room to room, and Elizabeth had scurried up and down the staircase a hundred times, and the kitchen seemed to glow with the preparation of all the food that would be given to the guests; when the first chords of music began to echo through the castle, Evelyn beckoned for the children to follow her upstairs to her bedroom. They threw themselves up the staircase breathlessly, falling into Evelyn’s room all at once.

‘We can have our own party in here,’ Evelyn said, her eyes shining. ‘I always pretend I’m having a party of my own, and tonight it will be the best ever, because you’re all here too!’

She took Mary’s hand, which was cool in hers, and they danced together, giggling as Mary’s feet tangled around Evelyn’s. The other children danced too, laughing as they bumped into one another. When they couldn’t dance any more for laughing, they collapsed on the floor of Evelyn’s bedroom, out of breath.

‘Are you all hungry?’ Evelyn asked, and as the children nodded, she pulled out from under her bed a tray of rich buttery food that she had sneaked out of the kitchen earlier on. They sat and ate cakes and biscuits, the smells of the party from downstairs floating up around them: a mixture of sweet perfumes and sugar and wine.

‘This is the best party I’ve ever been to,’ said Derek, a smear of cream on his lip.

‘Me too,’ said Mary.

Sid shrugged. ‘It’s okay. But we could make it even more exciting. Let’s play a game of dares.’

Derek sat up straighter. ‘Dares in a castle!’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘Yes, let’s!’

And so they played. Sid dared Derek to run downstairs and take a sip of somebody’s champagne. He was gone for a while, and when he came back, he hiccupped loudly. ‘Champagne’s horrible,’ he said.

Mary stood up. ‘I’ll do the same dare. I want to taste champagne.’ She darted from the room, but a few minutes later she was back, clutching her sides and laughing. ‘They saw me before I could get a sip! I told them I’d got lost and they showed me back up here.’

‘Well that’s the end of that,’ said Sid. ‘They’ll be looking out for us now. We need some new dares. Evelyn, it’s your turn. What shall we make her do?’ he asked the group.

‘Well, going downstairs is no good for Evelyn. She lives here, so there’s not much that’s daring about that,’ Sid said, frowning with the effort needed to think of a good dare.

‘What about if you go somewhere in the castle you’re not allowed to go?’ Derek said. ‘That would be a proper dare.’

‘I could go in my parents’ room. I’m not really allowed in there.’

‘Yes!’ Sid shouted, his eyes wide with the excitement of the game. ‘Do that and bring something for us to see from their room. Something we won’t have seen before.’

Evelyn stumbled to her feet and thought for a minute. Then she grinned.

‘Wait here.’

She knew exactly where the mirror was. She remembered the first time she’d ever seen it, when her mother was looking into it and didn’t know Evelyn was there. It was the most beautiful thing Evelyn had ever seen, covered in what looked like shimmering blue diamonds.

‘Can I have a look?’ she’d asked. Her mother had spun around.

‘Evelyn! I didn’t know you were in here. You can look. But do not touch. This mirror has been in my family for generations. It’s very valuable.’

Evelyn had stared down into the glass, her round face and golden hair framed by the sparkling stones.

‘Don’t ever touch it,’ her mother had said, sliding the mirror into her dressing table drawer and closing it firmly. ‘Promise me, Evelyn?’

‘Yes,’ Evelyn had said, with her fingers crossed behind her back.

Now, Evelyn raced to her parents’ room, her heart thumping in time with the music that floated up from the party. She glanced around to check that nobody could see her before she flung the drawer open and took out the mirror. Holding it took her breath away: it was heavy and sharp, the stones pricking her skin as she clutched it and ran back to her own bedroom.

‘I’ve got this,’ she announced breathlessly as she returned to the other children. ‘My mother told me that I wasn’t allowed to have it, or even touch it.’ Her face burned: she was thrilled and frightened all at once. Her heart thumped and thumped in her chest as Mary gasped over the mirror and Sid fingered the glass. But there was no need to be scared, Evelyn reminded herself.

It was just a mirror, and she would put it back soon.

Nobody would ever know.

Chapter 3

Isobel 2010

My Queen,

It’s fortunate that I know where you live, because if I couldn’t write to you, I would most probably expire: a brutal, red death. I only hope that these letters will be passed onto you, and that you will write back to me and tell me where you are. I have visited Lace Antiques seven times this week. I have had to buy a painting of a rather ugly dog and a chipped crystal vase to keep your father happy. I wanted neither. I only want you.

Please, tell me my dear. Where have you gone?

H

Seconds pass, and Tom still doesn’t speak. Isobel stands in the doorway to his lounge, staring at the television, where cars tear around a black track that’s glossy with rain. The whirring of the engines makes her want to scream. She sees the remote on the arm of the sofa, seizes it, mutes the cars and then tosses it back down. But then there is silence, which is somehow even worse. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to take a steady breath, but panic still roars inside her.

‘Tom,’ she says, her eyes still closed. As she speaks, she feels his arms closing around her. She clutches onto him.

‘When?’ he asks eventually.

She hasn’t even thought about this. She counts now, losing track once and having to start again. Isobel doesn’t understand her body like other women seem to. She can’t say for definite when she missed a period because they come and go with no warning. ‘June, I think.’ Her thoughts flit against each other and tears spill out again, her head throbbing. ‘Yes, end of June. It’s too soon. We can’t do it. You don’t have to-’. She opens her eyes, sees Tom through her tears: his ashen shock, his wide eyes.

‘I should go,’ she says next, turning from him so abruptly that the room spins. ‘I’ll leave you to it for a bit. You don’t need me here, in a mess like this.’

‘Isobel.’ Tom’s voice is sharp but kind, his grip on her arm firm but gentle. ‘Come on. Sit down.’ He goes to the tiny kitchen and roots around in the fridge, taking out a can of Coke and handing it to her. ‘Here.’

She’s sitting on the couch when he comes and sits so close to her that it almost feels like they are one person. He watches her swig from the icy can, waits for her to swallow and take a few deep breaths so that she can listen to what he has to say.

‘This is our issue. We’ll be shocked together, and we’ll sort it out together. You’re going nowhere.’

It’s as if Tom has clicked a switch inside Isobel. She takes a wobbly breath and another gulp of her drink. Her trembling hands begin to still and her banging heart quietens.

‘I’m stunned,’ Tom continues, his hand resting on her knee, his other hand rubbing his face. ‘But I love you, Isobel. And I want us to really think about this. I want us to think about whether it’s something we can do. For what it’s worth, I think it probably is.’

Isobel stares at him. ‘You do?’

His eyes fix on something that Isobel can’t see. They are soft green, crinkled slightly around the edges by life. His lashes are thick, dark and straight. ‘Yes. I really do.’

She thinks for a minute. June. Next summer, a pram, a tiny little pink person. Tom, holding the baby, shushing it and rocking it gently. ‘Maybe,’ she says, the word making her lighter somehow. Anxiety still claws at her and shock ripples through her body. But the raw terror has cleared. She leans her head against Tom’s shoulder, inhaling his warm scent of mint, herbs, an earthy aftershave she doesn’t know the name of. He turns and kisses her gently, and for a split second she feels as though there’s nothing wrong at all.

‘I don’t know how it’ll work,’ she says as she nestles back into Tom and puts her feet up beside her. ‘But I trust you.’ She takes the remote from where she threw it down on the sofa just after she arrived and turns the TV back on. The racing has stopped. The winner is being interviewed, beaming through his helmet.

They watch for a while, curled together like cats. Isobel’s mind whirs steadily through hundreds of thoughts. She gazes around Tom’s flat and thinks of her own. They are both so small.

But they have until June. She closes her eyes again, presses her body against Tom’s.

The first day back after half term is one of those days that never gets light. November darkness lingers in Isobel’s classroom: even with the lights on, it’s dingy. The English department is based in one of the round turrets at the top, with an arched window that rises so high it almost touches the ceiling. Isobel taps out emails on her laptop as the pupils work, glancing now and again around the room and out of the huge windows at the side of her desk.

The sky outside is a brooding purple-grey. Seagulls swoop past, cawing like rooks. The trees along the entrance to the school are almost skeletal now that winter is coming, their branches clawing in the wind. Between the trees, the grey sea churns in the distance. Isobel loves the view, loves this classroom. She can sense the past here, seeping from the huge stone bricks. When she can, Isobel weaves into her lessons stories about the castle and its past. She makes the younger classes write stories about the ghosts that might be trapped in the walls, about the horses and soldiers that might have trotted across the courtyard and the grand people who lived here when it was first built hundreds of years ago. She tells them about the enigmatic Edward du Rêve, whom the castle was built for, and how his family stayed here for generations. She tells them about how later, the chateau-style castle was used as Silenshore University for over forty years.

Isobel remembers her mother telling her stories about the strange disappearance of the du Rêves. She tries to recall the details now, as she watches silver raindrops begin to gather on the windowpanes. She sees scenes from a long time ago in her mind: images of sitting up in bed, her hair in a plait so that it would be crimped in the morning, her mother sitting on the pale-pink chair in the corner of the room with her long, thin legs crossed as she told Isobel stories to send her to sleep. Words come back to Isobel now, shrouded in her mother’s voice: they just vanished! But Isobel can’t remember the details. There are so many fragments of conversations with her mother that lie in Isobel’s mind like bits of broken china. If she thinks about them too closely, or tries to touch them, their sharp edges sting her.

She clears her throat and a few of the more restless pupils look up from their biro scrawls, eyes round with hope that the lesson is over. When Isobel announces that it is, there’s a sigh of contentment and a final rustle of papers. She clicks her laptop shut and collects the answers in, the thought of what she needs to do now that her working day is over looming in her mind.

When she reaches the bottom of the main staircase, Isobel turns away from the double doors that lead into the main hall and reception area, and instead pulls open the side door and steps into the wet afternoon. Impressive as it is, Silenshore Castle has too many secret exits to be a high school: teachers and children escape all too often. Isobel should stay and do her marking, and normally she would. But today, she can’t concentrate until she has seen her father.

Blythe Finances is about halfway down Castle Street, between the Co-op and Wheels chippy. Isobel regrets not bringing her car as the raindrops hammer down on her like needles. She has an umbrella, but the hostile wind whips it out of shape. By the time she arrives at the shop, rain has seeped through her pumps, her feet squelching unpleasantly as she pulls open the door.

Isobel’s dad sits at his usual desk, surrounded by files and Post-its. He looks away from his screen briefly and smiles as he sees Isobel.

‘Izzie! What brings you here?’

She shrugs. ‘Thought we needed a catch-up. Got time?’

Graham clicks his mouse a few times and glances at his watch. ‘Jon’s finished, so there’s only me here. I’ve just got a few phone calls to make, but then I’ve got a bit of time.’

‘I can wait,’ Isobel says. ‘I’ll go up to the flat, shall I?’

‘Go on, then,’ her dad says. ‘I’ll be up as soon as I’m done.’

Isobel surveys the lounge as she reaches the flat. A dining table that used to be the family one, on which she knows her clandestine initials are carved somewhere, sags with junk in the corner. There are no dining chairs: they’ve somehow all disappeared over time. The whole room seems wrong: the lampshade isn’t straight, the clock is four hours fast. A curling rug lies in the centre of the small room, fuzzy with cat hair. The perpetrator of the fuzz, Duke, licks his paws dolefully next to Isobel. The curtains are drawn, as they always are. She can see a crack of her father’s bedroom through the open door. His bed is unmade, his room littered with books and clothes.

Isobel shakes her head and pulls out her phone. She has a message from Tom.

Hope it goes okay. Can’t wait to see you later. T xxx

She taps out a reply as she waits for her dad to come up. He might be a while. He’s more and more involved in the business lately, and less inclined to spend time with Isobel. It’s fine, she tells herself, because he’s busy and he’s okay and that’s the main thing. But it’s not like it used to be.

After fifteen minutes of flicking through her phone, Isobel stands up, restless. Just as she reaches for the door, it opens, and her dad hurries in.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he says. ‘I just needed to get those phone calls made.’

Isobel sits down on the old brown sofa and gestures for her dad to do the same.

‘That’s okay. Are you done for the day now?’

‘No. I’ll go back down for a bit, I think. Plenty to be getting on with, as usual. So, what’s new?’ he asks.

‘Well,’ she begins.

Her father pats his knee for Duke to join him. The cat springs up and curls on his lap. ‘Yes. We’re listening.’

‘I’ve met someone. A man. It’s going brilliantly.’

‘I’m so pleased. That’s great. And?’

‘Why does there have to be more?’

‘With a man, there’s always more.’

Isobel shakes her head and laughs. Then there’s a silence until Duke begins purring loudly, the glottal sounds filling the room.

‘I’m pregnant, Dad.’

As she blurts the words out, Isobel remembers all the other things she has blurted out to her father over the years. I’m doing teacher training, I’ve got a job at Silenshore Castle High School, I’m going to rent a flat with Iris. Her mother always spoke softly, prepped them carefully, built a platform for whatever she was going to say. Isobel has never been like that. She can’t ever think of words other than those that are on her mind. The words she wants to say blink, fluorescent and blinding. No others can be seen. She tries to look at her father but his eyes are lowered.

‘Dad?’

‘Are you happy?’ he asks eventually, looking up at her.

‘I’m really happy. I panicked at first,’ she admits. ‘I’m still kind of scared, I suppose.’

‘Oh, everyone’s always scared of something, Izzie. So if that’s all you have to contend with, then things aren’t so bad.’

They chat for a few minutes. Graham asks when the baby will arrive, and they speculate on if it might be a girl or boy. Isobel tells her father trivial things about Tom: his shifts at the restaurant in Ashwood, his good dress sense, his flat. She makes some tea and quickly wipes the kitchen worktop while she waits for the kettle to boil. There are breadcrumbs, hard pellets of rice and shiny slivers of cheese stuck to her cloth when she’s finished. The tang of fish lingers in the air of the small kitchen, which mixes with the scent of tea and makes Isobel gag behind her sleeve.

For once, her father doesn’t snap or take offence that she has cleaned a surface and tried to make his flat more inhabitable. But after they have drunk their tea, Graham stands up.

‘I’d better get back down to the office.’

Isobel looks up at him as he stands, preoccupied, waiting for her to let him go back to bury his head in his paperwork. It’s been the same for over two years now, since that slow, inevitable morning when her mother died. Isobel’s dad always worked hard when Isobel was a child, but he usually made sure he finished in time to help her with her homework or watch Blue Peter together or eat pizza on a Friday night. Now, it’s as though his family mode has been switched off, and Isobel can’t find how to turn it back on, to tune him back into her.

‘Come on, then. I’m going to Tom’s anyway,’ she says. As they clatter down the uncarpeted stairs, a sweet, warm scent blooms in the air and overpowers the smell of frying fish and chips and vinegar from next door.

‘I can smell the bread again,’ Isobel says. The office downstairs used to be her grandparents’ bakery. Even though bread hasn’t been baked here for over thirty years, every now and again the overbearing aromas of yeast and flour, sugar and butter waft through the air.

‘It’s trapped in the walls. They don’t want us to ever forget it,’ Graham says. He says it every time they smell the bread. Even though Isobel has heard it so many times, it still makes her feel uneasy, as though the spirits of her grandparents are watching them from somewhere, their faces dusted white with flour and death.