Page 15 of On Edge

I’m too busy pressing an array of buttons on my phone in an attempt to get it to turn on when he replies, “I’ll keep looking, but it might have been swept away.”

Swept away? I blink up at him, about to ask how that’s even possible, when the screen flares to life, glowing in the dim hallway. My phone has no signal here, but there’s a decent amount of battery left, despite being submerged all night. I hold it up, then start waving it in the air like a lunatic, hoping for a bar of reception.

“You won’t find any.”

“What?”

“Phone signal. You’re trying to make a call, aren’t you?”

“Er, yes,” I say slowly, my brain catching up. “I was trying to.”

“Well, there’s no signal inside, you’ll have to go outside for that.” His eyes narrow.

“Will do. Thank you for finding my bag.”

I angle to move past him, but he doesn’t budge. He’s still staring at me, blocking the corridor.

“I can show you if you like?”

I squash down any panicky feelings. “No, that’s okay. I really must?—”

“Ms. Lovett?” I glance over Mundel’s shoulder to see Mrs Oakley behind him. “There you are.”

“Mrs Oakley.” I breathe out. Just hearing her matter-of-fact voice is such a relief. “I was just coming to lunch.”

Her eyes narrow. “Well, lunch is in the dining room. Shall I show you the way?” She looks between Mundel and me as if trying to figure out what we’re doing here.

“Yes, please.” My voice sounds too bright as I shuffle past Mundel toward my savior, Mrs Oakley. When I glance back, he’s still there, watching me leave.

I avert my eyes and follow a muttering Mrs Oakley through the depths of the house.

“…Master Troy won’t be joining you as he’s busy.” I catch the end of Mrs. Oakley’s sentence.

What kind of busy?I want to ask, but I can’t. It doesn’t feel right to keep pressing, especially after grilling her about my sister earlier.

Until I know whom I can trust, I should keep my questioning light, nothing a curious fiancée wouldn’t want to know about her soon-to-be husband.

The dining room table is empty except for one place setting—mine.

I’m taken aback by the stacks of buttered bread, cold cuts of meat, quiches, bowls of crunchy salad, and a selection of fruit jams and pots of cream to accompany cakes and scones, filling the space like a feast for the whole village. I’m not sure where to start.Surely this is not just for one person to eat. What if someone’s trying to fatten me up?

Now, I’ve lost my appetite.

“I’m not that hungry,” I tell Mrs. Oakley when she bustles back in with a steaming cup of hot tea, but she ignores my protests and sits me down.

“You must eat something.”

“Can we light the fire?” I gesture to the barren hearth. It’s so cold, my teeth are starting to chatter. I forgot to put my cardigan on.

She stares at me like I’m asking for the impossible. “Master Troy doesn’t like there to be open fires around the house.”

I spy a few brown, rusted radiators around the edges of the room. “What about central heating? Can we turn it on?”

She sighs. “It is on. How about another layer? I’ll grab you a sweater.”

I rub my arms and give a nod.

When she’s gone, I stare at the food. It just dawned on me that Mrs. Oakley works for a potential cannibal. Should I be worried? Is there a polite way to ask your host’s housekeeper if the cold cuts contain actual pork?