The Devil's Serenade by Catherine Cavendish Page B

box of Panadol and downed two with three more glasses of water.
    Black coffee. With sugar. Lots of it. I sat, nursing my steaming mug, my eyes closed. Too ill to be scared. Self-inflicted wounds, not worthy of sympathy, not even my own.
    An hour later, the coffee and pills had done their job and I was feeling well enough to think about what I’d heard and seen. Or rather, what I thought I’d heard and seen. Because I couldn’t really have seen her, could I? My mind must be playing tricks on me.
    For the next day or two, I didn’t venture beyond the first floor, but when the following Monday arrived, I had no choice. I’d promised Shona I would heat their room up. The cast was due to arrive for a seven thirty start that same evening. Contrary to my earlier resolve, I hadn’t baked a cake. Maybe Wednesday, in time for their next rehearsal.
    The brand new convector heaters stood in the hall. My stomach lurched at the thought of going into that room again, but the sun was shining on a beautiful autumnal day. Outside, blue sky, white clouds. Everything normal. Nothing out of place. If I kept telling myself that, I’d be fine. Just fine.
    I picked up one of the heaters. It weighed little, but the awkward shape meant I could only carry one at a time. I took a deep breath and climbed up to the second floor. This time I heard no childish laughter or running footsteps, only my own.
    I set the heater down at one end of the room, plugged it in and switched it on. Almost immediately an acrid stench of burning hit my nose. The smell of a new heater, but unpleasant. I really should have tried them out earlier. Too late. I would have to apologize and spray a bit of air freshener around.
    I placed the second heater at the opposite side of the room and the burning aromas met in the middle. Maybe the smell would wear off by the time they turned up. I could live in hope.
    At seven fifteen, they began to arrive. A friendly bunch trying hard to pretend they weren’t curious about the house they had heard so much about, and its new owner. One by one, I showed them upstairs. Now there were other people here, I no longer felt afraid. The more chatter and laughter I heard, the more my earlier fears melted away.
    Shona rang the doorbell at seven thirty. She looked flushed. “I’m not late, am I? I hate being late, but I got a phone call at the last minute. I bet they’re all here, aren’t they?”
    I took her coat. “If you were expecting fourteen, they are. I’ll show you up.”
    “Oh no, Maddie, there’s no need, I’ll follow the noise!”
    An hour later, I took them tea and biscuits. The rehearsal seemed to be going well and the group seemed to have made themselves at home.
    “I realize I didn’t tell you where the bathroom is on this floor,” I said, handing them drinks.
    “Oh, no need,” said a woman who looked around thirty, with bright red hair. She had introduced herself as Cynthia. “The young girl showed me.”
    I stared. My mouth dropped open. My hand trembled and I spilled coffee. A few faces peered at me, concerned.
    Shona touched my arm “Are you all right, Maddie? You’re awfully pale.”
    I ignored her. “What did this girl look like? Little, with blonde plaits? Yellow dress?”
    Cynthia shook her head, sending her ringlet-like curls bouncing. “No. She was around twelve or thirteen, I think. Short light brown hair, in a bob—rather like yours actually.”
    I touched my hair. My heart thumped. The entire cast had stopped talking, all eyes fixed on my exchange with Cynthia. Shona frowned.
    I licked my dry lips. “Can you describe what she was wearing?”
    Cynthia raised her eyes, as if searching heaven for the answer. “I didn’t really take too much notice, I’m afraid. I assumed she was your daughter or someone. I think she had a blue dress on, with a full skirt.”
    Her words came to me through a fog. I had to find out the rest. “Was it 1970s style? Did she have clunky platform sandals?” I knew what