The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) (11 page)

He swallowed.

“Make me happy, Jeffrey.” She pulled his head forward. “Worship me.”

Belinda’s Office

After a pleasant and uneventful breakfast with the family, Mr. Manning escorted Belinda to her new office. It was on the third floor, next door to the schoolroom she’d be outfitting for use in September.

“What do you think?” Mr. Manning asked after unlocking the door and showing her inside.
 

She wanted to hug him. The room was almost as big as Mr. Manning’s, but the thick carpeting was hunter green instead of blue and two of the walls were built-in oak bookshelves, mostly empty. The third, behind her desk, held wooden cabinets and a dreary painting Belinda barely registered. The fourth wall was lined in Ravencrest’s signature mullioned windows, the green drapes drawn back to reveal a view of the vast rear lawns and gardens and the forest beyond. Morning sun streamed in through the thick glass to cast colorful prisms that danced across a vase of fresh blue and white daisies on the desk.
 

“I love it,” Belinda said, turning to Mr. Manning. “It’s almost like being outdoors. And thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful!”

“Oh, um, yes,” he said. “They add a nice touch. I imagine Grant brought them up from the gardens.”

Belinda felt herself flush.
Of course Mr. Manning didn’t bring me flowers! Why did I even say that?

“Grant has taken quite a shine to you,” Manning added.

“He told you that?”

“Of course. Now, I want you to make a list of things you need in here and in the classroom. Spare no expense. I trust you to choose the textbooks and create the syllabus yourself.” He handed her a set of keys. “We do like to keep these rooms locked.”

“May I ask why they’re kept locked?”

“Just a precaution,” he said. “You understand.”

She wondered what caused the need for precaution, but nodded. “Of course.”

She turned toward the desk and focused on the big landscape hanging above the cabinets. It was a gallows on a desolate gray heath. In the background, a gray mansion stood partly hidden in fog. It looked like Ravencrest.
 

“Belinda?” Mr. Manning asked.
 

“Yes?”

“Do you like that painting?”

“Um. It’s interesting. That’s not Ravencrest, is it?”

Mr. Manning’s eyes lit up. “As a matter of fact, it is. The painting dates back to the eighteenth century. That was England and the place had a very dreary backyard.” He chuckled. “I think of this piece as a bit of gallows humor.” He eyed the painting. “But I’m not sure what it’s doing in here.”

Belinda shuddered. The painting chilled her. “Did your family build a new Ravencrest here?”

“Imported it. Today’s Ravencrest was shipped over piece by piece from England. Most of this structure dates back to the late 1500s, and much of the interior stonework - like the fireplaces and pillars - is almost as old. My ancestral uncle Parnell Manning came to America with his father, Edward, in the 1800s, and they established the family home and business here”

“That’s amazing. And all those beautiful Oriental rugs, they’re real?”

“Those are reproductions. You’ll see some originals hanging on walls, but most of them disintegrated over the years. Parnell and his son, Gavin - not to mention his grandson, Caleb - believed in using beautiful things, not putting them under glass, I’m afraid. And by the time Great Uncle Henry, then Uncle Albert inherited, most had been tossed out or relegated to the east wing. A lot of old family possessions are stored there.”

“How wonderful it must be to have such a rich family history.”

“The Mannings have always enjoyed history.” He smiled. “Particularly, their own.” He paused. “Belinda?”

She looked at him.

“I have the impression you don’t care for that painting. Am I correct? Be honest, now.”

“I think it will give me nightmares,” she said. “To be honest.”

“Well, then, consider it gone. Would you like to choose another?”

“I would,” she said, feeling awkward. “But …”
 

“But what?”

“Would you choose it for me?”

“If you want. What do you like?”

“Surprise me.”

“Very well. Nothing dark or drear.” He checked his watch. “I have a meeting in a few minutes. Enjoy your day.”

“Thank you.”

He left, shutting the door behind him. She stared at the foggy gallows painting again, wondering if the last governess had minded it, or even noticed it. Mist seemed to swirl around the tall wooden gallows - an artist’s trick, she thought. Then she noticed a dark figure hanging from the noose. She moved closer. It was a woman in a long dress. As she stared, it seemed to become clearer, as if the fog were lifting.

First the chill and the voice in the bathroom.
My robe untying itself.
Now a painting was changing before her very eyes.
It must be new job jitters.
If it doesn’t pass in a few days, maybe I should visit Dr. Akin and get something for my nerves.

She pushed it from her mind and sat down to begin planning her curriculum.

* * *

The desk had been cleaned out, as had most of the cabinets and closets spanning the wall behind it, though she did find a few manila files tucked away labeled
Thaddeus
and
Cynthia
that contained teaching notes and schoolwork - drawings, some simple math and English, and comments by Celeste Montgomery, the previous governess. Now, Belinda sat and thumbed through another of Cynthia’s files.
 

Miss Montgomery had been concerned about the girl’s attitude and felt the child disliked her.
At least it isn’t just me.
She flipped to a quiz about the Bible. Mr. Manning had made no mention of religion and had not requested she teach it. It struck her that Celeste Montgomery might have been instructing as if they were in a religious school, not a secular one. She wondered if the former governess had been terminated for teaching a little hellfire along with the alphabet.
 

The first yes/no question was
Does anyone know where the Holy Grail is kept today?
Cynthia had written in,
Indiana Jones.
Belinda smiled. Miss Montgomery, however, had X’d it in red and written
Unacceptable - F
across the entire quiz. Belinda glanced at the other questions. One was about the size of Noah’s ark; Cynthia wrote in
Bigger than the Titanic, and stinky.
 

“Good for you,” Belinda said, chuckling.
 

“Laughing in an empty room? That’s bad luck, you know.”

Belinda turned in her chair and saw Mrs. Heller standing in the doorway staring down at her. Feeling like a child herself,  she shut the folder as she stood to face the icy woman.
Maybe she’s why Mr. Manning likes the doors locked. “
I’m sorry, Mrs. Heller, I didn’t hear you.”

“Of course not.”

Belinda wanted to assert herself; she could tell this was a woman who would walk all over anyone who allowed it. But worried she might be fired if she did, Belinda decided to ignore it. “How may I help you?”

“I came to help
you
, Miss Moorland.”

Belinda stared at the woman, having a hard time believing Mrs. Heller ever went out of her way to help anyone.

“The schoolbooks you’ll be using for the children’s studies are in the old chapel room in the east wing.” She thrust a small piece of paper at Belinda. “I’ve written down some simple directions to the room.”

Belinda took the handwritten map from Heller. “But Mr. Manning told me I would be ordering new textbooks.”

Mrs. Heller gave her a sharp look. “Nevertheless, you will be needing these as well.” She pointed at a spot on the map. “It’s this room. It has a large cross carved into the door.”

“Seems easy enough.”

Mrs. Heller scoffed. “Your confidence is admirable, if not altogether ignorant. Ravencrest is far more complex than you realize. I’d recommend you take your cell phone in case you get lost, but there are so many areas without reception in the east wing that I don’t think it would do you any good.”

Belinda stared at the woman. “I wonder why cell reception would vary so much here.”

The administrator’s eyes drilled into her; it was everything Belinda could do to keep from looking away. “Here,” Heller said, pulling a large key from her pocket. “You’ll have to unlock the door to the east wing. Be sure to lock it again when you’re done and return the key to me immediately.”

Belinda screwed up her nerve and raised her chin. “So, what should I do if I get lost?”

A crimson smile spread like a stain across Mrs. Heller’s face and her dark eyes twinkled with amusement. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. As you said, ‘Easy enough.’” She turned and left the room.
 

The clacking of her heels was unnerving and Belinda shut the door, muting the sound.

The Chapel

The old chapel was also on the third floor. Belinda locked her office in the west wing and began walking down the hall to the long corridor near the front stairwell. She passed door after door, and stopped in front of one to peek inside, but it was locked up tight. When she saw the stairwell, part of her wanted to race back down to her room, but instead she turned and walked down the hall to the door of the east wing.
 

This hall, although enclosed, was similar to the mezzanine walkway on the second floor. Side tables and portraits dotted the corridor, but they were less interesting, less well executed and less cared for than those on the second or first floors. They were still nice, but the faces in the portraits looked angry or doleful. Grayer. Forgotten. Perhaps it was because the light was dim here, and becoming ever dimmer as she approached the heavy door that shut off the east wing.
 

Fear seeped into her when she reached it. The door was old and made of dark paneled wood. The rails were intricately carved with leaves. Faces of mythic green men peeked out from between them, vines growing from their mouths in long, winding tendrils, their eyes seeming to follow her.
 

The lockset, dull bronze, looked as if no one ever polished it, and she wondered if the housekeeping staff avoided the east wing.
That’s not a comforting thought.
She put the key into the lock and turned it. At first it didn’t move, but after she jiggled it, all the while avoiding the watching eyes of the green men, the lock clicked over and the door groaned, creaked, and yawned open by itself. She saw nothing but darkness. Stale air curled into her nose.

Reaching in, she felt around for a light switch, shivering as her hand swept through a cobweb, but she made herself keep hunting.
Why didn’t I bring a flashlight?
Her skin crawled as unwelcomed images from horror movies imposed themselves on her. She had decided to go down to the kitchen and get a flashlight from Grant, when her hand finally found a pushbutton switch.
 

Dusty light bloomed in wall sconces that looked to be converted from gas lamps. Everything was so old she was probably lucky there was any electricity at all. She could see to the end of the hall. It held a dust-covered, rickety chair and a few forgotten paintings that hung against peeling cabbage-rose wallpaper. A colorless moth-bitten runner covered the floor.
 

Belinda crept inside, ignoring the eerie creak under her steps. The door began to swing shut, and gasping, she grabbed it, then pulled the old chair into the opening so it wouldn’t close her in.
 

Under a dusty sconce, she studied the map, then proceeded to the end of the hall. Another dark passage crossed it in both directions. She felt for a switch, found it, took a deep breath, and turned left. She tiptoed past a dozen doors, hoping all were locked;
as it was, it was everything she could do to keep from panicking.
 

Half expecting to see little Danny Torrance careen around the corner on his Big Wheel - or worse, those creepy twins - she turned onto another hall. The switch wouldn’t work, but dim light from a window at the end of the passage showed her the way toward the chapel.

As she approached, the corridor seemed to telescope out, lengthening farther and farther. She imagined phantom fingertips at her back.
Stop it! This isn’t a horror movie!
She made for the window and saw the door, heavy wood with a cross carved into the wide center rail, just as Mrs. Heller had described.

She thought she heard a noise, a small scratching nearby.
Rats
, she told herself.
It’s only rats
. Never had she expected comfort from the thought of rats. The knob turned easily.

The chapel was the size of an elementary school classroom. Even before she found the light switch -
Working, thank heaven!
- she could see the shapes of pews by the bloody red light from a large stained-glass window. Jesus carrying his cross, being whipped, blood dripping into his huge upturned eyes from the crown of thorns. She trembled. It was horrendous.
 

She turned on the lights. The pews were simple and unadorned, the bare wood floor stained and ugly. She walked up the aisle between the pews. To the left, a dark wooden pulpit lay on its side as if it had been pushed over by an angry spirit. Straight ahead, on the altar, a stack of books waited.
 

Why here? Why are the books here, of all places?
She walked to the altar and picked up the top book. It was a
Dick and Jane
reader from the 1950s. The next was titled
Algebra for Beginners.
She set both aside without opening them; neither was appropriate. The other books were just as outdated.

A sharp sound startled her. She turned to the empty doorway. “Hello?”
 

Only silence replied and she returned to the books, flipping through them in search of anything that might apply to the children. Several moments later, it came again - a sharp smacking sound from outside the room. Belinda stepped out and peered down the long, darkened corridor, first one way, then the other. “Is someone there?” Her voice echoed against the walls. The slapping sound came again. And again; a steady
smack! smack! smack!
like a hand on bare skin. She thought she heard the distant wailing of an infant behind it, then realized it was undoubtedly the call of a  peacock somewhere out on the grounds.