towards me. “Laters.”
I watched her as she made her way up the stairs, long legs in school uniform stalking up the graceful curve of the staircase, and then disappearing around the bend.
* * *
She did not come down for lunch. I wasn’t particularly surprised, given the sandwich she’d eaten a couple of hours before, but since I was making lunch for me and Petra, I felt like should at least ask if she wanted to join us. I tried to speak to her using the intercom function, but it refused to connect. Instead, a message pinged back via the app. NOT HUNGRY. Huh. I hadn’t even known it could do that.
OKAY, I messaged back. As I was putting my phone away, another thought occurred to me, and I pulled it back out of my pocket and reopened the Happy app. Feeling a little queasy, I clicked on the menu that showed the list of cameras available for me to access. As I scrolled down the list to R, I told myself I wouldn’t look, but at least that way I would know . . . but when I got down there, Rhiannon’s room was grayed out and unavailable, which was mostly a relief. There would have been something inexpressibly inappropriate about cameras in a fourteen-year-old girl’s bedroom.
It was as I was spooning yogurt into Petra’s eager mouth, dodging her “helping” fingers as she tried to grab the spoon, that I heard footsteps on the stairs and peered into the hallway to see Rhiannon, holding a small bag in one hand and her phone in the other.
“Elise’s brother’s here,” she said abruptly.
“At the door?” I glanced automatically at my phone, puzzled. “I didn’t hear the bell.”
“Duh. At the gates.”
“Okay.” I resisted the urge to bite back a sarcastic retort. “I’ll buzz him in.”
My phone was on the counter, but I’d barely even opened up the app, let alone navigated the menu of the various gates, doors, and garages I had access too, before Rhiannon was already halfway to the door.
“No need.” She pressed her thumb to the panel and then swung open the front door. “He’s waiting for me down by the road.”
“Wait.” I moved the yogurt out of Petra’s reach and then ran hastily after Rhiannon. “Hang on a sec, I need a number for Elise’s mum.”
“Uh . . . why?” Rhiannon said, heavy with sarcasm, and I shook my head, refusing to get drawn into her defiance.
“Because you’re fourteen years old, and I’ve never met the woman, and I just do. Do you have it? If not I’ll ask your mum.”
“Yeah, I’ve got it.” She rolled her eyes, but pulled out her phone and then cast around for a bit of paper. One of Maddie’s drawings was lying on the stairs, and she picked it up and scribbled a number on the back. “There. Happy?”
“Yes,” I said, though it was not entirely true. She slammed the door behind her, and I watched through the window as she disappeared around the curve in the drive, and then I looked down at the piece of paper. The number was scribbled across one corner along with the name Cass, and I tapped it into the messenger app on my phone.
Hi, Cass, it’s Rowan here, I’m the Elincourts’ new nanny. I just wanted to say thank you for having Rhiannon tonight and if there’s any problems, please call or text this number. If you could let me know what time you’ll be dropping her off, that would be great. Thanks. Rowan.
The reply came back reassuringly quickly, while I was spooning the last of the yogurt into Petra.
Hi! Nice to “meet” you. Pleasure, it’s always nice to have Rhi over. I imagine we’ll have her back by lunchtime tomorrow but let’s play it by ear. Cass.
It was only when I went to put Maddie’s drawing back on the stairs that I finally looked at it. It reminded me of the drawing I’d found on the first night, of the house, and the pale little face staring out. But there was something distinctly darker and more disturbing about this one.
At the center of the page was a crude figure—a little girl, with curly hair and a sticking-out skirt—and she seemed to be locked inside some kind of prison cell. But when I peered at it more closely, I realized, it must be meant to represent the poison garden. The thick black bars of the iron gate were scored across her figure, and she was clutching