Anne didn’t seem to notice Ellie at all, but then her eyes flicked up, dark discs staring out from the red light.
“They picked it all clean,” Anne explained, not surprised to see Ellie. “Like vultures. They started up here where nobody would see, saying it was only to keep the bills here paid while they waited for Edmund’s will reading.”
“Something tells me they took advantage of that.”
“You’ve met them, then?” Anne grunted, pulling herself up in the chair a little. “Thomas would turn up with flashy new watches, and James seemed to buy half a quarry of clay for his ‘art’.” She looked around the empty study, lips snarled in disgust. “They sold off every last one of Edmund’s beautiful things. Not just in here, either. Only the downstairs has anything left in it, to keep up appearances. They haven’t put the heating on in eighteen months, either, and will they stop complaining about it?” She snorted a dry, bitter laugh. “And you know Edmund came from nothing, mind. He tried to be an inspiration to his children, and look how they repaid him.” She patted the chair arm, staring up at the pitched roof, the depths hidden in the shadows of the night. “Such beautiful things…”
Ellie took a step into the empty room, and as cold and cavernous as it felt, she could imagine it cosy and warm, with Edmund pacing as he worked on those early books when he was at the top of his game. And then she felt the years of decline souring the air until she smelled the recent cherries. She looked down at the rug. There was a stain, and Anne had cleaned it with the same solution she’d used on the floors, and the same scent Anne left behind in the wardrobe in the bookshop.
“I know you killed Thomas with your special pen,” Ellie said, her voice steady despite her racing heart.
Anne didn’t say anything, her eyes distant.
Ellie pressed on, “You pushed that gravestone onto me too, and you returned after I had a lucky escape, and you destroyed the riddle there. That statue on Emma? Did she stop accusing Charles and turn on you during that dressing change?” She paused, but she offered no reaction. “And you just came to my gran’s shop to try to kill me.”
Anne shifted in her chair and winced; Zara’s book throw must be hurting. “I wasn’t going to kill you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not if you handed over the book.”
“I had it,” Ellie replied. “You saw me unlock the riddle with Sammy.”
Anne’s eyes focused on Ellie. “I know. When I saw you wading in that pond, I knew where you’d end up. That was what I was waiting for.”
“Funny how this manuscript keeps slipping through our fingers,” Ellie said, braving another step. “It’s almost like Edmund didn’t write it for us.” Anne didn’t respond, so Ellie continued, “You followed us to the school. You set off the sprinklers, and… you destroyed the book’s ending.”
“What?” Anne sat bolt upright.
Ellie braced herself for the confrontation; if anything was going to make Anne lunge across the table, it was what Ellie was about to repeat.
“I told you, I had the book,” Ellie stated, gulping back her racing heart rate. “Edmund’s publisher didn’t print his Last Draft on the thickest paper stock. Quite poor, actually—a cost-cutting measure, I imagine, but he really should have made a copy. It turned to mush under the sprinklers. Edmund’s ending has been returned to pulp.”
Anne’s eyes widened in disbelief. She closed them, shaking her head as if trying to deny the reality of the situation.
“It cannot be gone,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I need to know how it ends.”
“I know how it ends,” Ellie revealed. “Is that what all this was about? The ending of the book?”
Anne stared dead ahead at Ellie, her gaze intense and unblinking. Taking another step forward, Ellie pressed on. “I saw your notes. All over the manuscript. Your secret invisible suggestions. You read it.”
The housekeeper’s hands trembled as she gripped the arms of the chair, her knuckles turning white.
“He never wanted my notes on his ‘Last Draft’,” Anne whispered, her voice barely audible. “That was the last book he wrote before I started working for him, but he was rewriting the ending. I couldn’t keep up with. Like he didn’t know what he wanted to say.”
“But you still persisted with your ideas?”
Anne’s gaze snapped up, a mix of defiance and desperation in her eyes. “I wasn’t technically allowed to read it, but he left the manuscript lying around. He needed those notes...” She paused, swallowing hard. “At first, he didn’t like it when I had things to say about his work, but he came around when he realised I could help him. And it was such a thrill! Me, helping the greatest writer this village ever produced. And I know I made those final better, mind. He kept using my suggestions, so I kept feeding them to him, and when the book was a hit, he was terrified.”
Anne’s words tumbled out faster now, her voice rising. “Terrified the publisher would find out... that he’d have to admit his cleaner was the reason for this late career renaissance. His swansong belonged to me.”
“But they were still his stories?”
Anne’s eyes flashed with anger. “Told in my words,” she hissed. “And the publisher was going to see that when I showed them the manuscript with my ignored notes... how much better I made it, and they’d see… you’d all see.” She grinned. “It was me! He was happy to slip away with a whimper, but I put that pen in his hand and gave him a bang. And what did I get?” The grin flipped upside down in a flash as she darted forwards, her dark eyes boring into Ellie. “Edmund was so paranoid about my notes being found. He destroyed the first working copy of the first book we worked on together after he typed it up, but he found the retyping process so laborious. So, for the next one, I typed the notes up directly, but he didn’t like that either. He liked doing corrections with his pen, and that’s when he presented me with the invisible ink pen. A way for me to make notes to my heart’s content, and if he agreed and wanted those changes made, he just traced over what I’d written with his real pen and sent it to the publisher.”
She looked down at the cherry-scented stain on the rug.
“Invisible ink cartridges,” she said, laughing at some memory. “When I heard the police were asking around about it, I knew it was only a matter of time before they came up here and found the box of cartridges. The invisible ink ran out so fast, but I could never stop myself when I got scribbling.”
“And that’s where he kept you, left hidden on the page,” Ellie said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Invisible.”
Anne’s eyes snapped up to meet Ellie’s, a flicker of recognition passing through them. “That pen... that pen gave me a voice...” she said, her lips trembling with emotion. Suddenly, she slammed her palm on the desk, the sound echoing through the empty room. “I never let it leave my side, and I kept the secret for Edmund.”
“He gave me some money for my help, but... he wouldn’t recommend me to his publishers. Said he wanted to keep me to himself. I thought that was sweet, mind. That I was too valuable to him. Besides, he was old. I’d outlive him, and then I’d get my deal.”
Ellie felt a chill run down her spine as she realised the depths of Anne’s delusions. The woman continued, her voice growing more frantic with each word.
“You were going to use the manuscript as leverage,” Ellie said as Anne’s motive dawned on her. “Your credentials in exchange for a publishing deal.”
“And they’d get one last guaranteed posthumous bestseller from Edmund Blackwood. Since his death, I’ve spent the last two years resubmitting with all the books they rejected over the years, and nothing. So, I told them. I told them all what I did on every cover letter, and I wrote emails and made phone calls, and nothing… I was ignored. I don’t think they believed me.”
Anne’s face contorted with rage and frustration. Ellie took an involuntary step back, her heart racing as she felt the dangerous prickle in Anne’s voice.
“And the one email I did get a response to said they wouldn’t investigate my ‘wild claims’ without proof. I told them to check for the invisible ink on the copies Edmund set back, but they never responded.” She slammed her palm again, this time following it up with a second slap. “And for those two years while the family waited for his will reading, they foamed more and more at the mouth every day for what final treasures he might have left them...” Anne’s eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “I cleaned for him, cooked, made sure he took his medication at the right times. I kept his sons at bay when he was exhausted. I saved his career, and… he used me. He didn’t leave me anything. He didn’t help me. I wasn’t even allowed to hear the riddle. Charles told me the first one, Thomas the second, but I went from there, mind. Figured them all out on my own when Edmund didn’t think I was clever enough to play. He was no different from those children. The rotten apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”
Ellie felt a wave of pity wash over her as she realised the extent of Anne’s obsession and the twisted path that had led her to this point.
“No, that’s not fair,” Anne said, shaking her head. “And as much as I wish Edmund had helped me more in my career, he helped me by listening to me. Properly, like. Taking interest in my thoughts, my ideas.” Her voice softened, almost wistful. “I needed to keep that book from the rest of his family too. All of their plans left that book in the wilderness. I was going to have it published, at least.”
Ellie nodded, trying to understand. “I believe that, but why didn’t you go and get the parts yourself?” She paused, remembering a crucial detail. “That afternoon... when you walked in all wet... the pond.”
Anne’s eyes widened slightly, confirming Ellie’s suspicion. “I put the clue back where I found it. How could I walk up to Sammy, or any of those people, and ask for the book? They were expecting someone from his family... they’d never have handed it over to me. The housekeeper.” Her voice grew bitter again. “Edmund didn’t consider that I’d want to play his little game too. I saw him writing all those riddles, but he’d never tell me what it was about. I was just the wallpaper that whispered the way to him.”
