The flatter section of the roof was smaller and not completely flat, but there weren’t many places to hide. She walked towards the edge – holding on to a stone gargoyle to steady herself.
For a moment she was distracted by the view. Lights glittered from farmhouses nestled snug between fields, and small villages sparkled like jewels partially hidden by trees. She took a deep breath of cold night air and felt invigorated. On the roof she felt free of the dread that crept around her when she was inside Chidlow House.
A muffled clunk made her spin around. There was no one there, but the door to the staircase was now closed. Had the wind blown it shut? Or had her practical joker taken the opportunity to scurry away? She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, which had become tangled thanks to the bracing wind.
At least now she knew it was a student, and not the Drowned Lady. There wasn’t a ghost singling her out. She took one more look at the spectacular view, then peered down at the dark gardens. The view from the roof was the only thing she liked about Chidlow House.
With a shake of her head, she decided to go back to find Doyle. She’d speak to the students tomorrow and make sure they understood that practical jokes like this weren’t acceptable, and she would make it clear she’d be talking to their parents if this behaviour continued.
They weren’t a bad lot, really. Spoiled, but that was to be expected with their rich and powerful parents. They’d never had to want for anything in their lives. But they were good at heart. She’d explain it in a way that didn’t embarrass them, but made sure they knew not to do anything like it again.
She even managed to smile at her earlier fright and was just turning away from the edge of the roof when her breath caught in her throat.
‘What are you doing up here?’ she asked as her thumping heart slowly returned to its normal rhythm.
But the only response to her question was a hard and definite shove. Two hands pushed against her chest and Alison King tumbled backwards into the darkness.
CHAPTER ONE
It was Thursday night, and Natasha Layton was getting ready to go out with her friend, Cressida.
Students weren’t supposed to leave Chidlow House unsupervised. But they did plenty of things that they weren’t supposed to. Sneaking out was Natasha’s way of rebelling against her strict parents. She’d managed to creep out unnoticed four times so far.
She was good at rebelling in secret. But not so good at standing up to her orthopaedic surgeon father. And terrible at openly defying her mother, a lecturer in history at Lincoln University.
Natasha slumped into the seat at her desk and pushed the textbooks away with a sigh. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried. She had. Multiple times. But whenever she attempted to have a rational conversation with her parents and explain how she felt, she ended up sulking like a five-year-old. She couldn’t help it. It happened every time. To be fair, it was her mother who had a special way of frustrating every argument Natasha put forward. Her father did little more than raise his bushy eyebrows and look at her disapprovingly when she brought up the subject of having more freedom.
She was seventeen, after all, and not a child. Though her mother clearly didn’t think so. Natasha wasn’t allowed to do anything alone. She had to be driven to socially approved events and collected at a respectable time.
Her mother certainly wouldn’t have approved of visits to the local pub, which was where Natasha was intending to go tonight with Cressida.
Natasha opened up her compact and studied her face in the mirror. Then she picked up an ink-black liquid eyeliner and added an upward flick to each eye. She grinned at her reflection. That was better. Now she looked like someone going out to have a good time.
Of course, her mother would have been appalled. She liked the no-makeup look. That was a joke. The no-makeup look took her forty minutes to apply every morning.
Natasha scoffed under her breath and rummaged in her makeup bag, taking out a hot-pink lip gloss and applying a thick, shiny layer to her lips. It might have been a little over the top for a visit to the local pub, but Natasha liked to make the most of her opportunities.
Her mother preferred to dress conservatively even on nights out. ‘Elegant yet understated’ was her catchphrase. If she’d seen what Natasha was wearing tonight, she would have been horrified.
Natasha tugged the green stretchy top a little lower, pleased at how the tight material hugged her curves. Then she caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror and frowned. Her eyebrows were far too bushy – she had her father to thank for those – but she didn’t dare pluck them. That was another thing her mother would pitch a fit about.
She frowned. Her eyebrows almost joined together! She swore softly under her breath and grabbed the tweezers. Plucking a few hairs from the middle of her brow line, Natasha swore a little louder. It hurt so much! It made her eyes water.
She glanced at the time on her phone. Cressida was supposed to be here in about five minutes. Did she have everything she needed? Money – which wasn’t as easy to come by as you would think. Her mother and father both came from wealthy families but they kept a tight grip on the purse strings. Natasha didn’t have as much money as most of the other teenagers on the study week. She’d only managed to gather change here and there – from occasions when her mother had given her cash to go and buy a cup of coffee when they’d been out.
Fortunately, Cressida’s parents were far more generous. Cressida had an allowance and was not shy in sharing her wealth. Still, Natasha didn’t like to go out without her own money as insurance. She didn’t want to get stuck in the middle of nowhere without being able to get a taxi. As her mother constantly told her, it was a dangerous world out there for a young woman.
Natasha rolled her eyes. If her mother had her way, Natasha would never see anything of the real world. Her parents expected her to be either a surgeon like her father or a lecturer like her mother. They’d gone to Oxford – in fact, that was where they’d met – and they took it for granted that Natasha would do the same. Hence the intensive study programme before her second year of chemistry, biology and maths A levels.
She’d really wanted to study English, but her mother hadn’t felt that was appropriate.
When Natasha had complained, she’d said, ‘Darling, there’s nothing stopping you reading books as a hobby, but it’s hardly a career, is it?’
Natasha tried to argue her point, but Imogen Layton had pinched the bridge of her nose as though the subject pained her. Whenever Natasha tried to talk about her plans for the future, it brought on one of her mother’s headaches.
Another thing that brought on her mother’s headaches was the mere mention of boys. If she so much as suggested going to a party where there would be members of the opposite sex, that would almost certainly bring on a nasty migraine and her mother would need to lie in a dark room to recover.
Natasha rolled her eyes again and grabbed her coat. It was a sensible garment – tailored wool – and it hardly went with tonight’s outfit, but then her mother would never sanction buying something fashionable. She liked black, grey and beige. Nothing bright or exciting.
She reached for a pair of clip-on earrings, held them up to her earlobe and then put them back down in disgust. They looked horrid and clunky. Seventeen years old and she wasn’t even allowed her ears pierced, for goodness’ sake. How ridiculous was that?