The Silent House

by Laura Elliot

Genres: General Fiction; Literary Fiction; Small Town & Rural; Women's Fiction; Crime Fiction; Psychological Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

In the small hours of a cold winter morning, charcoal grey clouds gather in the sky over Hyland Hall where a young teenage girl is about to make an emergency call to say her life is in danger … With her marriage in pieces and desperate to find work and a new home for her and daughters, Isobel and Julie, Sophy accepts a job as a live-in nurse for Jack Hyland. Once a magnificent house, Hyland Hall has fallen into disrepair and its owner, Jack, disfigured in a terrible fire that broke out on the property years ago, is now a recluse. As Sophy’s daughters struggle to adjust to their new surroundings, exploring every forbidden corner of the house, Sophy does her best to care for Jack and her broken family. But Jack has secrets of his own and Sophy’s arrival is about to set in motion a chain of events that will uncover the devastating truth of Hyland Hall’s past. A truth that will put her daughters in harm’s way. An intense and emotionally engrossing read that will keep you compulsively turning the pages late into the night. If you read one book this year, make it The Silent House. Read what everyone is saying about The Silent House ‘Laura Elliot is completely binge worthy! … With Imaginative details and eerie character building … Elliot plays on a slow burn writing style to engross the reader right to the very end.’ Boundlessly Bookish ‘A gripping psychological thriller that'll keep you guessing as you turn the page. I honestly didn't see that kind of ending coming but it kept me reading until the wee hours of the night to find out what would happen next … it's definitely a creepy read.’ Genuine Jenn ‘… Captivating and all-consuming...reminiscent of V.C. Andrews with all the twisted creepiness of a Ruth Ware thriller, I was reminded of both as I devoured this atmospheric tale. A page-turning atmospheric thriller with twists and reveals… An addictive read that will appeal to both fans of spooky reads and psychological thrillers.’ Confessions of a Bookaholic ‘… absorbing, gripping, dark, highly addictive and will just take you over and consume you… had me torn between trying to savour each word, and racing through to see how it was going to all unfold… I finished reading it in one sitting. I was just so captivated and caught up its spell, I couldn’t let go until I got to that last page…’ Once Upon A Time Book Blog ‘ Absolutely adored this book. I have literally been unable to put this one down and have completely devoured this entire book in just one sitting. …This is definitely a page-turner which keeps you on the edge of your seat. … completely unique to anything I have read previously. There is no way I saw the ending coming and have been left completely shocked by this one…’ Littlemissbooklover ‘I had a hard time putting this book down! This book will keep you guessing till the very end. Talk about an intense read!!!! This is it!’ Goodreads reviewer … This book took me by surprise from the very first chapter… So much so, this turned into a single-sitting read!… I very rapidly became invested in Sophy and Isobel …The plot…felt so original in its execution. I felt the shock and fear as each piece of the puzzle was slotted in to place but was kept on the edge of my seat as more questions were raised. … I really would recommend this to anyone who enjoys great thriller/mysteries with an emotional twist. Pink in Ink ‘ Twisty and Creepy.… I loved the characters of Sophy and Jack… a must-read psychological thriller.’ NetGalley reviewer

Release date: December 1, 2020

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

Six months earlier

The rooks had arrived before them. The shriek of rusted hinges when Isobel opened the entrance gates had startled them from their roost and they had risen in clamorous protest to wheel above their nests before scattering into the evening air. Now, they had settled like an ominous, black cowl over the chimneys and roof of Hyland Hall. Silent and unmoving, their sharp, beady eyes watched Sophy as she left her car and took stock of her surroundings.

She had imagined moving into a ‘great’ house. One that had weathered the centuries and stood stately and proud at the end of a long, tree-lined avenue. The bumpy, narrow lane leading to the entrance gates had worried her but the avenue had been as leafy and wide as she had hoped. Her spirits had risen as she drove under a canopy of overhanging branches towards her destination. The trees, she now realised, had been a deceptive lure that did nothing to prepare her for the shock of seeing her new home for the first time.

Hyland Hall would once have been a magnificent dwelling but decades of neglect had carved fissures into the red brickwork, flayed the paint from the front door and tarnished the brass horseshoe-shaped knocker. The courtyard was equally run-down, the flagstones barely visible beneath a wilderness of weeds and overgrown shrubbery.

She did not need to look at her daughters’ expressions to appreciate their shock. They must be waiting for her to break; to turn on her heel and leave this eerie house to the rooks and the two stone lions perched on either side of the high steps. She shared their desire to run but she could not turn back now. Too much was at stake. This house, whatever its flaws, would shelter them and that, for the time being, was enough.

The musty smell of abandoned spaces rushed up to greet them when Sophy unlocked the front door. Isobel stepped back, her nose wrinkling in disgust, and Julie, after an initial hesitation, asked, ‘Is this really the start of our exciting new adventure, Mammy?’

‘You’re right, Julie, that’s what it is.’ Taking their hands, she ignored Isobel’s resistant pull and drew them forward into the wide entrance hall. Its glory days were well past and the embossed wallpaper had faded to an indistinguishable beige. A pall of dust covered the furniture – a large wooden trunk with a curved lid, two antique chairs, and a long-legged console table positioned under a gun cabinet. A carving of a horse’s head was displayed on the marble pillar and portraits of horses hung from the walls. A tall grandfather clock sent out six startling, sonorous booms, as if acknowledging and welcoming their arrival.

Isobel clasped her hands over her ears and Julie, unable to hide her fear, ran back to the car where she had left Cordelia. She carried the mannequin back into the hall and propped her against the grandfather clock. Crooning softly to her, she straightened Cordelia’s wig and adjusted her arms.

‘What’s this supposed to be?’ Isobel stood at the bottom of the stairs and stared at a steel rail with a stairlift attached. It ran along one wall and followed the curve of the staircase until it wound out of sight.

‘It’s a stairlift that’s been installed for Mr Hyland,’ Sophy replied. ‘Remember what I’ve told you. You are not to climb these stairs under any circumstances. Do you understand, Isobel? Julie?’

‘Yes.’ Isobel nodded. ‘No way are we to bother The Recluse.’

‘His name is Mr Hyland.’ Sophy frowned. ‘I’ve told you to stop calling him by that ridiculous name.’

Julie pressed her foot to the bottom step then withdrew it. ‘It’s weird,’ she whispered. ‘Him not wanting to see anyone. I’d hate that.’

‘He has his own reasons for demanding his privacy,’ Sophy replied. ‘He’s been very ill and is still recuperating. We must respect his wishes at all times. Come on, let’s check out the downstairs rooms. We have two bedrooms. Decide which one you want to take and I’ll use the other one.’

‘Does that mean I’ll have to sleep with Julie?’ Isobel sounded outraged.

‘The rooms are large. There’s plenty of space for the two of you.’

‘Three of us,’ warned Julie. ‘Cordelia also needs her own space.’

Sophy sighed as she opened the door of the larger room. The dark, cumbersome furniture was such a stark contrast to their bedrooms in Park View Villas and Isobel, staring in horror at a four-poster bed, its canopy speckled with blue mould, shuddered.

‘That’s disgusting.’ Her finger shook as she pointed at the bed. ‘No way will I sleep in that… that thing.’

‘It’ll have to do for now,’ Sophy replied. ‘I promise I’ll organise separate beds once we’ve settled down.’

‘Settled down—’ Isobel began but Sophy was already entering another room. The high ceiling was discoloured yet faint, intricately designed mouldings of musical instruments and musicians were still discernible on the cornicing. Sophy imagined the Hyland family gathered there in the evenings to play music but all that remained of its former purpose was an out-of-tune grand piano and an elaborate piano stool. The overgrown courtyard was visible through two long windows at either end of the music room. The frames of their six-over-six sashes were flaking and encrusted with mould.

‘Cordelia thinks this house is really eerie.’ Julie opened the lid of the piano and struck a few chords. She winced at the discordant notes and carefully closed the lid. ‘But she’ll get to like it soon.’

‘How do you feel about your new home?’ Sophy asked.

‘It’s… okay. Kind of nice, I guess?’

‘Nice.’ Isobel rolled her eyes. ‘It’s only nice if you like living in hell. You can’t possibly expect us to live here, Mum. You can’t.’ Her truculence had disappeared and she sounded on the verge of tears.

‘We made a promise to be brave and share this new adventure,’ said Sophy. Understanding her daughter’s distress was not the same as acknowledging it. To do so would undermine her composure. What purpose would it serve if she wept and huddled into a mass of anxiety? Her daughters needed to see her strength, not the weakness that threatened to overwhelm her at times.

Once past the staircase the hall narrowed into a corridor that led them down three steps into a spacious kitchen. A long, wooden table ran along the centre of the room and an old-fashion dresser filled with crockery stood against one wall. The fridge, washing machine and dishwasher were new but a wood-burning stove seemed to be her only means of cooking. A dusty space with wires hanging from the wall showed where the original cooker had stood. She spotted a note on the table and read it. Charlie Bracken apologised for the delay in the delivery of the cooker and hoped she could manage with the stove until it arrived.

Jack Hyland had mentioned Charlie in his correspondence with her and referred to him as his friend. He had been asked to organise the delivery of electrical goods and had succeeded in doing so except for one of the most important items. After they had carried in their luggage and chosen their bedrooms – because of its size, the girls agreed to sleep in the four poster bed – they returned to the kitchen to eat.

‘The stove shouldn’t be too difficult to light…’ Sophy pointed resolutely to a stack of old newspapers on the floor. ‘Roll the pages up as tight as sticks and we’ll have a fire going in no time at all.’

The girls did as they were told. As the spirals of paper piled up and began to burn, she added logs from a basket. The fire went out immediately. She set more newspapers alight and shrieked when flames lashed across her fingers. As she splashed cold water over her hands, she realised that smoke was billowing from the chimney and filling the kitchen. She coughed and ushered the girls outside into the backyard.

The setting sun cast an eerie glow over the blackened remains of the burned-out stables that had almost killed Jack Hyland. They reminded Sophy of pyramids; the roofless walls bleakly angled. The corrugated frame of a larger building with a domed roof was visible beyond the stables. That must have been the barn where the fire started. One of Jack’s stipulations was that the girls were not to go near the ruins in case they collapsed. They nodded glumly when Sophy reminded them that the stables and barn were out of bounds.

‘Let’s forget about a hot meal for tonight,’ she said when the smoke had cleared and they returned to the kitchen. ‘I’ll make sandwiches instead?’

‘Can me and Cordelia have cheese and onion crisp sandwiches?’ Julie had taken the mannequin from the hall and settled her into a rocking chair by the stove. ‘They’re our best favourite food.’

‘I want proper food,’ Isobel snapped. ‘I’m not going to sleep in the same bed as Julie if she smells like a stinking onion.’

Sophy sucked in her cheeks and buttered bread. Losing her temper was not going to help matters. She was weary of arguments. Weary of understanding her daughters’ grief, worries, loss. So many emotions expressed, and she had listened to them, determinedly positive, while she battled her own inner conflict. Selling her boutique and then her house, the proceeds of both running like water through her fingers, had numbed her too much to feel true pain but it swept over her now, raw and raging against the circumstances that had led them here.

‘Don’t start arguing again,’ she said. ‘We’re all tired after our long journey. Everything will work out if we just give it time.’

‘No! It won’t.’ Isobel smashed her fists off the table. ‘You know it won’t get better, not in a million years. We can’t stay here. It’s horrible. I don’t want to live with The Rec— with Mr Hyland. There has to be another way. There has to be.’

‘What do you suggest we do, Isobel? Where will we go?’ Sophy stared at the blisters rising on her hand.

‘You’re crying.’ Isobel made it sound like an accusation. ‘You’re crying yet you keep pretending everything’s going to be all right.’

‘It’s all your fault, Issy Kingston!’ Julie yelled. ‘You keep spoiling our exciting new adventure. Cordelia hates you—’

‘Cordelia is a fucking dummy—’

‘You said a curse.’ Julie rose on her toes with self-righteous shock. ‘Mammy, Issy said the F word.’

‘Stop it this instant, both of you,’ Sophy shrieked. ‘I’m tired listening to the pair of you bickering. You never stopped for the entire journey and I won’t put up with it for a moment longer. Do you hear me? Eat your sandwiches then go to your bedroom and unpack.’

‘I’m never going to unpack—’

‘You heard me, Isobel. Do what you’re told for once. I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you for the rest of the night. Is that understood?’

Isobel, her eyes downcast, bit hard into a sandwich and nodded.

‘Don’t worry, Mammy.’ Julie leaned her elbows on the table and cupped her face in her hands. ‘This is going to be the best adventure ever.’

‘I know it is, my darling.’ Sophy released her breath, in and out, deep and slow.

When the girls were asleep, she entered her bedroom and loosened her hair, allowed it to fall to her shoulders. She stared at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. Tears had traced furrows on her soot-stained cheeks and her eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep. Too tired to undress, she lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. A series of faint cracks radiated across the once-white surface. She watched the slow sway of a cobweb hanging from the lampshade. How long had that dreary, grey smear been suspended above the bed? Decades, probably. Sounds reached her from the bedroom next door. The thump of something falling – a book, perhaps. Books had become Isobel’s defence, her weapon of choice to keep her parents at bay. Sophy considered going in to check on her. She would gather her eldest daughter into her arms and reassure her that everything was going to be okay. A wasted effort. At fourteen years of age, Isobel recognised a lie when she heard one, but Sophy continued to repeat the same platitudes every time they discussed their future. What else could she do? Isobel might demand the truth but did she want to hear it? No, Sophy decided. Reality needed to be doled out in bearable doses.

The high pitch of Julie’s voice reached her. The sound of the voice that Julie used when practising her ventriloquism skills set Sophy’s teeth on edge. Julie’s affection for Cordelia, the child mannequin who had once stood in the window of Sophy’s boutique, was just another problem to be tackled when life settled into a new normality, whenever that would be.

Was Luke sleeping, she wondered, or was he also lying awake and tormented by thoughts of their broken marriage? He had only ever laid his hands on her in tenderness and passion, yet when he walked from their home, she felt as if her body had been bruised beyond healing. He had never betrayed her with another woman yet when she uncovered his lies, she was as duped and humiliated as any wife who had ever been deceived by an unfaithful husband. He adored their two daughters yet he had recklessly steered their future onto the rocks.

She continued staring at the ceiling. Like palmistry, it seemed as if her two lives – the one that had been heedlessly destroyed, and the new one that was being forced on her – could be read in the lines. The crack that ran in a straight direction until it broke into a tangled network was the present. There had to be another line, a newer one, and she eventually found it. This one had the sharpness of a recent fracture; a quavering uncertainty in its run towards the centre of the ceiling. Her future. It hadn’t taken shape as yet, but the forward momentum was unstoppable, and the past, where happiness once reigned, was seen for what it was: a deluded ideal filled with false promises and empty kisses.

On the evening before he left them, her father mowed the front lawn for the last time. Isobel sat on the garden wall and watched him making lines of light and shade. Daisies spun in the air as the blades of the mower sliced through their fragile stems and the twilight air was filled with the scent of crushed grass. She wondered how something severed could smell so sweet.

He had been sitting tall and straight in an armchair on the day everything changed. He hardly spoke at all when Sophy ― sitting just as stiffly, but away from him, far, far away, her arms tucked against her waist, her fingers locked together ― said that they, their parents, no longer loved each other. They had made a decision to live separate lives.

Julie, huddled close to Isobel on the sofa, kept asking questions like, ‘Why can’t you just forgive and forget, the way you’re always asking me and Issy to do when we fight?’ She squeezed Isobel’s hand and said, ‘Tell them, Issy. Tell them it’s easy to say sorry.’

Isobel held her sister’s hand just as tightly but she didn’t plead with them. The sad, set expressions on their faces told her that nothing she or Julie said would change their minds.

‘But why… why are you leaving us?’ she had asked her father that night. Unable to sleep, she had gone downstairs to find Peeper. Her cat normally slept in the kitchen but she needed his fluffy warmth beside her. No longer sitting straight, her father was slumped over the kitchen table, his face in his hands.

‘Oh, my darling girl,’ he said when he saw her. He held out his arms to her and his mouth twisted in an attempt to smile. Ignoring him, she picked up Peeper, who nuzzled his nose into her neck and calmed her down. She was then able to sit down opposite him and listen as he explained what it was like to have a gambling addiction. That was what he called what he did, his terrible need to spend money and gamble his family’s happiness away.

She had always thought addiction was about drugs. It was about drinking too much or eating disorders. How was spending money an addiction? He said it was an addiction when the money didn’t belong to him. When winning was never enough to make him stop. Their mother had sold Kid’s Chic to help pay his debts and he no longer owned his business, Kingston Fountains, where he used to design incredible water fountains for gardens and parks.

He was going to a special place called The Oasis of Hope to be cured from his addiction. Afterwards, he would begin again, only in a new way, and be a better father to them.

Isobel had no memory of what she said to him. All she could remember afterwards was the hurt on his face, as if her words were bullets sinking into his skin. Her own skin was wet with tears. How could she cry so much and still have tears to spare? He had traced his finger over her cheek, as if, somehow, that could stop the flow, and begged her to be brave.

‘One day we’ll be together again,’ he said. ‘I promise with all my heart it will happen.’

She wanted to believe him but her mother had said that that was never going to happen. Never, ever.

Two months had passed since then. How could so much in her life have changed in such a short space of time? At first, her anger had no target, or so she thought. Was it directed at her father with his big plans and fine promises? Or the families who came to view their house and tramped through the rooms as if they’d already moved in? Or the removal men who took away the furniture she thought they owned but didn’t? Or the men who loaded her father’s silver BMW and her mother’s Range Rover onto two trailers and drove them away? Or her mother for pretending that moving in with a recluse was such an exciting adventure when everyone knew it was just an alternative to becoming homeless? Isobel guessed it was all of those things rolled up together, but most of all she blamed her father. He had cast them adrift from the safe, happy world they once knew and she would never forgive him. Never!

At breakfast this morning before they left Park View Villas, her mother had once again insisted that they were at the start of an exciting new adventure. ‘We’re walking away from here with our heads held high,’ she said. Her voice had sounded shrill and unfamiliar, as if she knew how fake she sounded but was unable to stop. ‘I know this is difficult for you both but it’s also a wonderful opportunity to begin again.’

Beginning again was not what Isobel wanted. The plans she had made with her friends, the beach trips and the sleepovers, the long summer evenings doing nothing except hanging out together in the park, that was exciting and adventurous, but the move to Hyland Hall was a tragedy, plain and simple. She hated it when her mother tried to pretend otherwise. They had held a farewell party for her in Joanne’s house, so much hugging and crying and so many promises to keep in touch. It should have helped Isobel to feel better but her mood was mutinous as she left her bedroom for the last time. Her footsteps clattered off the wooden stairs. She hadn’t even left and, already, her house sounded empty. Like her memories were evaporating into the stillness she was leaving behind.

They had already said goodbye to their neighbours. Her mother had asked them not to wave goodbye in case it got too emotional but Isobel knew they were watching from their windows. Julie knew it too. The pink feather boa she wore for dressing-up games had fluttered like a swarm of butterflies around her neck as she ran down the garden path. She flipped it from side to side, then curtsied to their invisible neighbours before climbing into the back of the car.

Two enormous rubbish skips filled with all their belongings they had dumped from the attic and the garden shed were parked in the driveway. The leaky garden hose hanging over the edge of the first skip reminded Isobel of an elephant. A grey hunkering beast waiting for them to depart. She took her rabbit’s foot and glass horseshoe out of her pocket and flung them over the edge. What use were good luck charms when they had failed her utterly?

The car was already packed with boxes and plastic sacks of stuff they still actually owned and was so tiny compared to the one her mother used to drive. Mrs Gordon from next door had insisted she was too old to drive her car anymore and Sophy must take it as a ‘thank you’ for all her kindness over the years. Isobel had never noticed her mother being kind to Mrs Gordon. Just as she had never noticed her parents getting ready to begin their new lives without each other.

She was fourteen, almost an adult and old enough to understand that marriages broke up. Old enough to understand that divorce, although terrible, did not destroy lives. Old enough to cope with the fall-out. Or so she kept trying to convince herself. But words like ‘new beginnings’ and ‘it’s no one’s fault’ were just that — words. They weren’t a cure, weren’t magical potions that could make her feel any better. She had lifted Peeper down from his favourite spot against the back window where he was dozing and ran her fingers through his fur. His purring had rippled against her lap as her mother started the engine on a car that must have been designed for hobbits. Looking out the window, it seemed to Isobel as if Park View Villas, where she had lived since she was born, was holding its breath until the Kingston family disappeared around the corner and life could return to normal.

Alone at last once the girls had gone to bed, Sophy tidied up the kitchen and opened a second door at the far end of the room. This led into an annexe that had been added to the original building and gave the back of the house an L-shape. It must have been used as a changing area for the jockeys and grooms who once worked in the stables. Shower stalls were discoloured and broken, as were the urinals, and the toilets in a smaller bathroom where the sign Ladies was barely visible. This space had become a hoarding area for old furniture that had broken and been deemed beyond repair.

Returning to the kitchen, she switched off the light and was heading towards her bedroom when she heard a noise from outside. She tensed, her fear rising as the isolation of her surroundings bore down on her.

She hurried towards the music room. Peering out, she watched as headlights swept over the bushes in the courtyard. An engine was cut and the courtyard was plunged into darkness. An automatic outside light switched on and revealed a figure walking swiftly towards the steps. She glanced around the room for a weapon. Her eyes lit on the companion set beside the old-fashioned fireplace. She grasped the poker and carried it out to the hall. The intruder had a key and was intent on entering the house. She was standing with the poker raised when the hall door opened and a man entered. He looked equally startled to see her.

‘What are you doing here?’ Sophy spoke with an authority she was far from feeling.

‘I could ask you the same thing,’ he replied. ‘But I’ll afford you the courtesy of answering your question first. My name is Victor Coyne. My uncle is Jack Hyland.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Feeling foolish and embarrassed, Sophy lowered the poker and propped it against the grandfather clock. ‘Mr Hyland didn’t tell me to expect you. I’m Sophy Kingston, his nurse.’ She held out her hand then quickly withdrew it when she noticed it was covered with soot.

‘Are you from the hospital?’ he asked.

‘No, I’m a private nurse, hired by Mr Hyland to look after him.’

‘Really?’ His dark eyebrows lifted. ‘When was this arrangement made?’

‘Two weeks ago.’

‘I see.’ He nodded, obviously perplexed. ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ Evidently familiar with the layout of the house, he walked ahead of her into the kitchen. Dressed casually in a pale blue, open-neck shirt, indigo jeans and ankle boots, he lounged back on one of the kitchen chairs and crossed his feet. ‘I’ve been keeping a regular check on Hyland Hall ever since my uncle was admitted to hospital,’ he said. ‘I was convinced vandals had broken into the house when I saw your car outside.’

‘Your uncle didn’t tell you to expect me?’

‘No, he didn’t. To be honest, Ms Kingston, I’ve absolutely no idea what you’re doing here.’

‘I told you already. I’m here to look after your uncle when he’s discharged from hospital.’

‘But that isn’t going to happen. My uncle is being transferred into a specialist nursing home.’

‘That’s not possible.’ Her fear had been replaced by a growing uneasiness. It was always there, the feeling that something had to go wrong. She had expected their departure to be fraught with difficulties but it had all been too easily organised in the aftermath of her meeting with Vivian Ford. ‘Mr Hyland made no mention of that when he interviewed me.’

‘Interviewed you. How was that possible?’

‘We spoke by phone.’

‘Were you able to communicate with him?’ His puzzled expression deepened.

‘I’d some difficulty initially but I was able to make out what he needs. We’ve exchanged letters. Everything was made perfectly clear to me.’

‘Yet he never mentioned that he was going into a nursing home?’ He tapped his fingers on the table. They were long and slender – musician’s fingers – the nails short, practical, well-tended. ‘I’m afraid you’ve been deceived, Ms Kingston. There is no vacancy for a nurse here. Sadly, my uncle suffers from delusions. It was not only his body that was severely damaged in the fire, his mind was also affected. I can’t imagine how he contrived to make this arrangement with you but I’ll ensure that you’re properly recompensed for all the inconvenience you’ve suffered.’ He spoke politely and with certainty. ‘Mr Hyland is a wealthy man. I’ll speak to him and agree a settlement.’

She heard a sound from outside, a sneeze, quickly muffled. Hardly surprising with all that dust around. Moving swiftly, she crossed from the table and opened the kitchen door. Isobel stepped to one side and said, ‘Sorry, I’m trying to find the bathroom.’

Sophy closed the door behind her and spoke quietly to her daughter. ‘Go back to bed, Isobel. I’m having a private conversation with Mr Hyland’s nephew.’

‘He said we shouldn’t be here.’ Unable to disguise her hope, Isobel added, ‘It’s all for the best, Mum.’

‘I know what’s best for you and that’s your be. . .