on his shoulder, one arm looped around his neck.
Try not to notice, she told herself. Try not to notice how well your head fits in the space near his neck, or how your bodies slot together like jigsaw pieces. Or how your chests rise and fall together, even when you’re not trying to match rhythm.
To distract herself she started thinking about the verse in the cartoon—the one that could be the key to Bertie’s past. Why hide it if it wasn’t? Why would someone have gone to all that trouble if the verse had nothing to do with the story Bertie had heard about his mother? And did the numbers have significance? Or was it in the words of the verse themselves?
‘Proverbs Four-Eighteen?’ he whispered in her ear.
She lifted her head and looked him in the eye. ‘How did you know?’
He shook his head, a rueful expression on his face.
‘What do you think the verse means? Have you had any thoughts?’
He pressed his lips together, then said, ‘Plenty of thoughts. Not sure any of them lead anywhere.’
Faith breathed out a little. This was easier, safer. They needed to keep talking about the window.
Marcus frowned as he pulled up a memory. ‘My great uncle told me once that his brother was very fond of treasure hunts. He used to lay one out every Christmas in the grounds for the village children.’
Faith’s eyes grew wide. ‘So maybe the reference isn’t a message in itself but a clue to something else? Another verse? Another destination?’
‘We should look for key words,’ he said.
‘Path,’ she said, nodding to herself.
‘And shining light,’ they both said, at exactly the same time, then both looked away and back again in complete synchronisation.
‘Stop doing that,’ she said. ‘It’s freaking me out.’
A mischievous glint appeared in Marcus’s eye. ‘It’s not just me.’ Then his expression became thoughtful. ‘There are paths all over the estate, but we don’t even know if it refers to something literal or figurative. As for shining lights …’
She closed her eyes, attempted to visualise the parts of the grounds she had visited. Shining light …
Her lids flipped open. ‘How about that grandfather clock in the cellar? That has a sun on it.’
‘Maybe …’ He didn’t look convinced. ‘But if this is a clue leading to something else there should be something there to find—some more writing or another verse. Like a treasure trail. We had a good look at that clock and I didn’t see anything like that.’
They’d still been swaying to the music as they’d been talking, but suddenly Marcus went completely still.
‘Of course …’ he said on an out-breath. ‘I’ve been so stupid not have seen it!’
And then he went quiet again.
Faith punched him on the chest softly. ‘Marcus!’
He blinked and looked down at her. She gave him a look that said she might have to hurt him if he didn’t spill the beans.
He laughed loudly enough to make some of the other dancing couples close to them look their way, then stepped back, grabbed her hand and pulled her in the direction of the door.
‘I know where there are both paths and a shining light,’ he said, picking up speed.
Once they were out of the ballroom he guided her towards the front door.
‘Marcus! I have heels on.’
He gave her a blank look.
‘And it’s been snowing outside! I want to solve the mystery as much as you do, but I’d rather not get frostbitten toes doing it.’
He nodded and changed direction, heading for the small staircase that led to the kitchens. They ran right through and to the back door.
‘Here,’ he said, and threw a padded coat to her. Once she had it on over her dress he nudged a pair of Wellington boots her way. ‘They’re Shirley’s,’ he said, ‘and she always keeps a spare pair of socks inside.’
While she kicked off her heels and sank her feet into the boots, which were at least a size too big, he pulled a coat off the row of pegs and shoved his feet into his own boots.
Then the back door was open and icy air was chilling their cheeks. Marcus grabbed her hand and pulled her out into the moonlit night.
There was something thrilling about running out of the castle with Marcus on this snowy night, her skirts caught up in her free hand, not knowing where she was going. The paths round the estate were mostly cleared, and they kept to them as much as possible. Faith kept lagging behind, caught up in staring at the formal gardens and the rolling fields beyond, all sparkling in the moonlight as if someone had dusted them with glitter, but the insistent tug of Marcus’s hand in hers kept her travelling.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, frowning slightly. For some reason she’d thought they might end up at the chapel, but they were jogging in the opposite direction.
He turned to grin wolfishly at her. ‘We’re almost there.’
She looked around. High yew hedges ran alongside the path they were running on. She didn’t think she’d ventured into this part of the estate before—too busy stuck in her studio bent over bits of glass to notice what had been right under her nose.
They kept running until they came upon a gap in the hedge, closed off by an iron gate. Marcus stopped and lifted the latch, making sure he still had her by the hand.
‘There are plenty of paths here,’ he said softly, ‘but only one is the right one. Only one winds upwards towards a shining light.’
As he led her through the gate suddenly it all made sense.
‘You have a maze,’ she mumbled, slightly awestruck.
‘They were the craze in Victorian times. The fourth Duke had it planted, but my great-grandfather added some improvements.’
She looked up to where the hedges ended, about two feet above her head. A couple of inches of snow glistened on top, pale blue in the moonlight, making the whole maze look like a rather elaborately carved Christmas cake.
‘We’re going to try to navigate a maze in the dark, in the snow?’ she asked, realising she sounded disbelieving.
Marcus just laughed. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Do you want to race me to the centre or do you want to do it together?’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘And you’re giving me the only light source?’
He nodded.
‘I have a feeling you know your way through this maze even in the pitch-dark, which would be cheating, so I’m sticking with you.’
