Page 97 of The Bridesmaid

I get to the library room, where Sepulcrum is hidden. But it’s then I realize I don’t know where the entrance is. I’d assumed it would be obvious. My eyes fall on a large oil painting.

It depicts Lady Margaret Kensington in schoolmistress robes, with three sad-looking girls. They seem to be staring at me challengingly, from their palm-tree and sea back-drop.

I let my gaze drift around the room. Bookcases. OK. Maybe there’s some secret entrance in that way. I start pulling off books wildly, glancing over my shoulder.

‘You know,’ says a familiar voice from the doorway. ‘That’s no way to treat the classics. Even for a scholarship kid.’

I turn, part disbelief, part wild hope.

‘Fitzwilliam!’

He’s standing in the doorway, dripping wet, with what looks to be a pretty serious black eye, but is otherwise unhurt.

I run to the doorway, and without thinking, throw my arms around his neck and kiss him.

‘I thought you’d left the island,’ I say, pulling back. ‘Your face, it’s hurt.’

‘It’s good to see you too. It’s not as bad as it looks.’ He winces as I touch his cheek.

‘How did you get away?’

‘Ortiz tracked my pager signal to the boat I was on,’ he explains. ‘Scared the life out of my captors by taking over their radio and asking to speak with me. I managed to get away in the general mayhem.’ He hesitates. ‘Listen,’ he says. ‘The picture of me with Adrianna. It wasn’t real …’

‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘Perception and truth are different things. I’m learning that one. You should have gone to get help,’ I add. ‘Not come back here.’

‘And leave you alone on Death Island? Never. Especially not when I can help you out.’

He strides over to the family portrait, eyes it for a moment, then curls his fingers around the edge and pulls.

‘I think it’s a door,’ he explains, voice strained with effort. ‘But it seems to be locked.’

My eyes track around the portrait. There’s a set of discreet cables running from the top.

‘It’s probably an electromagnet lock,’ I decide. ‘Probably some clever way to pop it.’ I sigh. ‘I guess when Simone figured this for a hiding place, the painting wasn’t blocking the entrance.’

I cross the room and begin dragging a chair across. Stepping onto it, I yank the wires. The portrait gives an audible click, and peels a few inches from the wall.

‘High School Diploma in illegal entry,’ I tell him, hopping down.

‘They teach that in public school?’

‘No, they don’t teach that. I’m joking. One of us should waithere,’ I add. ‘I only interrupted the power. The door will probably reseal itself, if we don’t keep it open.’

Fitzwilliam pulls the portrait fully back. It turns on hinges.

We’re both silent as a dark row of steps is revealed, leading downwards.

The gap seems to loom out at us.

Fitzwilliam swallows. ‘I’ll go,’ he says, walking forwards.

‘What happened to ladies first?’ I say weakly, trying and failing to lift the sudden awful tension.

‘You wait at the top,’ he says, his face strained. ‘And keep watch.’

The darkness closes around him.

‘Fitzwilliam?’ I call after a few moments. ‘Is everything OK down there?’