There had been a whole bunch of bedrooms to choose from, and Jeanette had picked the one with the imposing, black-framed window that stretched up to the ceiling. It gave the place a gothic look, which seemed appropriate when you were sent off to a big, empty mansion to visit a long-lost relative. Just as long as no-one got locked in the attic or forced to marry a wicked duke.

She’d been worried that she’d have to share with Sally. Even after they saw that there were enough rooms for the three of them, she’d worried that Sally might say she’d feel better with Jeanette or Rube in the same room as her. And Jeanette would have been the obvious choice, being three years older instead of five and a half, and she wouldn’t have been able to complain or refuse without feeling like a selfish jerk. Sally had been anxious about this whole trip from the start. If she’d needed her big sister to keep her company, then big sister would just have to swallow her desire for personal space and do the right thing. But it hadn’t happened. Sally was in the room next door, close enough to shout if she needed anything, and Jeanette was in here. It was the first stroke of luck she’d had all day.

In a way, though, she was glad that Uncle Colwyn hadn’t been there when they arrived. After a journey like that, the last thing you wanted to do was make polite conversation with a guy you hadn’t seen in years. After dinner, Rube and Sally (who saw her every day, and had been stuck on a bus with her for three hours on top of that) had let her go upstairs for a shower, then pick a bedroom and stay there. Uncle Colwyn probably wouldn’t have.

Still, where was he? They weren’t going to find his body in the cellar or something, were they?

She shouldn’t think like that. It was tempting fate.

She was pretty sure this house didn’t have a cellar, anyway.

Jeanette turned out the light and got into bed. The big, black window loomed in front of her. There weren’t any curtains, so all you could see from the bed was the sky. You could actually see the stars from here. You couldn’t at home.

*

If Sally had been able to get to sleep on time, she’d never have seen it. But she’d hated the idea of lying here in the dark thinking about things, so she was reading instead. It didn’t make her feel much better. She’d thought that maybe she could forget about what was going on in real life if she got absorbed in a book, but bits of the stories kept bothering her. There was a girl who stopped being able to talk when her mother died. There was a girl who was separated from her family during the plague. There was a girl who was sent away to become a servant on her twelfth birthday. It probably should have been comforting to think that she wasn’t the only one alone and adrift in outer space, but it felt more like being punched in the stomach.

Sally hated sleeping with the window open (she’d read too many stories about vampires), but Rube had told her it was too hot to sleep with it closed tonight, so they’d compromised. The window was only open a crack- barely three centimetres- and that was just wide enough for the moth to get in.

Sally looked up at the window, and there it was, a fluttery tangle of brown on the windowsill. It was moving- it looked as if it was trying to get its wings into position- but there was a reddish-brown stain underneath it, smudged across the wood. Sally got up for a closer look. Something had happened to one of its… wings? Legs? There was too much blood to tell. She didn’t dare move it. If you picked insects up the wrong way, you could end up crushing them to death.

There was nothing for it- she was going to have to go and find the bathroom. She was pretty sure she remembered where it was, but that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.

Sally opened the door, and stepped out into the cold, dark hallway. It was gloomy and weird-smelling, and the floor was all stony and cold on her feet, but at least the bathroom wasn’t that far down the hall. There was a little glass in there to keep toothbrushes in, and Sally took the brushes out and filled it up part of the way with water. After thinking about it for a moment, she took a few squares of toilet paper as well.

She hurried back to the moth. If she was careful, maybe she could clean it up. At least then she’d be able to see what had happened.

The moth hadn’t stopped moving. Sally put the glass down beside it, and dipped her finger in the water. Just a little drop. She didn’t want to soak it.

As gently as she could, she touched the moth’s side, near where the blood was but not actually on it. She couldn’t tell if it had made any difference, so she put her hand back in the glass and tried again.

It took three drops of water before she dared to dab the moth with the tissue and wipe away some of the blood, but when she did, she was relieved to see that it was only the blood that was coming away. She hadn’t pulled off any of its legs by mistake. Soon the wing was clean. Sally couldn’t see any damage. It must have been the body that was hurt.

Once she’d sponged away as much of the blood as she dared, Sally cupped her hands around the moth too see if it flew up and perched on her finger. Instead, it just fluttered for a bit, then gave up.

So, how were you supposed to look after a moth? She tapped her fingers on the windowsill, thinking. She was pretty sure that moths were cold-blooded, so she shut the window so it wouldn’t freeze. She thought about fetching a bit of cloth to put over it, like a blanket, but she didn’t know how to make sure it wasn’t too heavy. After a moment, she went to one of her bags, got out a notebook, and tore out a piece of paper. If she gave it a little paper tent, it would be in the shade when the sun came up in the morning.

Sally stayed there for another hour, keeping an eye on the moth. It wouldn’t have been polite to leave him alone in the dark, either.

(To Be Continued)