Fiona reels backwards with dizziness, as if blasted by a harsh gust of wind. The sing-song voice dances in her head, returning just as abruptly as it had departed the very moment she opened the door. She staggers a little before recovering her balance.
“No, not at all,” she says, pushing back the hanging coats. Behind the coats, she reveals the walls of a cave, illuminated by a Victorian gas street light.
Quickly, she closes the door and turns to Mary. “We can't...”
“...tell Rose.” Mary finishes her sentence.
Quietly they steel themselves, and prepare to head back downstairs.
