The Turn of the Key

by Ruth Ware

I skated round that one.

?? Why did it need skating around?

herringbone

There was something mischievous about her expression, and I wondered why Bill and Sandra kept this place locked.

I have a bad feeling about this

Achlys.

rictus

“Achlys—(pronounced ACK-liss)—Greek goddess of death, misery, and poison,”

We hate you.

Maddie is such a little shit

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. I hate you too! I wanted to scream after their retreating backs, as they padded quietly away into the media room to fire up Netflix. I hate you too, you vile, creepy little shits!

Ha! I just called her the same thing.

I can’t think about that, or I’ll start crying again. And if you lose it in here, you really lose it, I know that now. I never knew there were so many ways to deal with pain so unbearable that it cannot be endured, but in here I have seen them all. The women who cut their skin, and tear out their hair, and smear their cells with blood and shit and piss. The ones who snort and shoot and smoke their way to oblivion. The ones who sleep and sleep and sleep and never get out of bed, not even for meals, until they’re nothing but bones and grayish skin and despair.

stroppy

recalcitrant

Dr. Grant.

Ummmm, any relation to Jack Grant?

self-effacing.

Jack . . . Grant. It wasn’t an uncommon surname, particularly around here, but . . . still. Dr. Kenwick Grant. Could it really be coincidence?

It seemed she had died from eating Prunus laurocerasus, or cherry laurel berries, which had been accidentally made into jam. The berries were apparently easily mistaken for cherries or elderberries by inexperienced foragers, and it was thought that the child had gathered them herself and brought them to the housekeeper, who had simply tipped them into the pan without checking.

The more I pondered the idea, though, the more problems there seemed to be with the suggestion that Elspeth had gathered the berries by accident. I was a 1990s child of the suburbs, totally unused to fruit picking, and even I had a vague idea of what laurel looked like compared to elderberry. Would the daughter of a poisons expert with a locked garden explicitly dedicated to deadly plants really make such a slip?

Agreed

What future was there for a nanny whose child had died in her care, after all? A very bleak one indeed.

contrite.

There was something a little malicious in her voice,

Why are the kids so shitty?

rapprochement

The string tying up the gate had gone.

Dun dun dun!!!

And then, leaving the email unsent on the tablet,

Why would she do something so dumb?

I never meant for all this to happen.

What. A. Fucking. Idiot.

The kitchen was cozy and bright, but when I shut my eyes I could still smell the chilly breath of the attic air coursing out beneath my bedroom door—and

sacrosanct.

Quite a word choice for a 14 year old

You know that the reason I would never sleep with Bill Elincourt was because he was my father too.

escutcheon—and